Snapshots: Our Days
by ramblingonandon
Summary: Modern AU. A contemporary take on the BBC Musketeers but with a few added twists; a story of brotherhood and the meaning of family. Fluff, Drama, Angst and Hurt/Comfort [Heed the warnings given at the start of the chapters.]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: don't own anything recognizable here, not making any money.**

 **The words for my other story won't come and the blank page was mocking me...**

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 _ **I'm smiling because you're my brother and I'm laughing because there's nothing you can do about it. - Anonymous**_

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The young man sitting in the hospital waiting room had the back of his head pressed against the pale green wall and one eye on the man pacing the small room. Both of them turned their heads to the sound of Captain's shoes hitting the linoleum flooring. At his heels were two men and two women; d'Artagnan truly respected Captain Treville from the bottom of his heart he did but the man's decision to come _here_ , with _them_ , at _this_ time left the youngster wondering about the integrity of the man's mental faculties.

Without moving his head he glanced from the small group following the Captain to the big man who had stopped his aimless trek.

Porthos was angry.

His dark eyes zeroed in onto the leader of Team 2 and he lunged for Rochefort with a barely concealed growl. It took both the Captain and Charon to keep him from decking the man. Porthos still strained against the men's hold and Charon looked to d'Artagnan for help.

Too bad, he wasn't in the mood to run interference. Especially for that creature Charon called his team leader. Crossing his arms over his chest, d'Artagnan pointedly leaned back in his seat.

"Calm down Porthos," ordered the Captain, "Rochefort gave me his word that it was an accident, he hadn't the time to change course, Athos got in the line of his shot."

"And received three cracked ribs for that," Aramis emerged from the exam room, "The Doc says he's lucky he was wearing his vest."

"Luck has nothing to do with it," Athos informed them as he gingerly made his way out after Aramis, "I never forget to take precaution when Team 2 is involved."

His hair was in disarray and he had opted for Porthos' grey hoodie instead of struggling to get back into the black high-neck they usually wore on assignments like these. Aramis held on to him until Porthos had grabbed the man's other elbow and d'Artagnan let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He couldn't suppress a smile either when Athos rolled those soft blue eyes in almost fond exasperation.

Without a word d'Artagnan picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder and went to stand beside Athos. For a second there he had thought the man wouldn't ever get up off the tarmac after he had gone down with the sound of gun shots.

"I'm sorry Olivier," Rochefort said.

Charon, Flea and Ninon flinched from beside him and even the Captain raised his brow. Everyone knew Athos hated the name.

"I mean my apologies Athos," Rochefort amended, "I wouldn't dream of hurting my own family."

"Ofcourse not, you'll just knock them out and bury them alive," Porthos smile was all teeth.

"And what do you know of family Du Vallon?"

"Rochefort." the warning was clear in the Captain's voice.

"My apologies," he said although from behind the Captain the man gave a smug grin.

"Are you sure you can go home?" the Captain asked Athos but his eyes were on Aramis.

Both men nodded.

"It's good that it's the weekend," Treville said, "Take the Monday off, all four of you. I mean it Athos I don't want to see your report in my inbox before that."

Athos nodded his acceptance.

"Don't worry Captain," d'Artagnan piped up, "I'll lock him out of his laptop."

"You will not touch my laptop." Athos told him.

D'Artagnan huffed, "I don't have to Athos, I'm a hacker remember?"

"It's a valid threat Athos," Porthos chuckled.

"I knew we kept the boy around for a reason," Aramis smiled.

"As long as you're not leaking out company secrets," the Captain shrugged.

Athos looked from one man to the other like he couldn't decide who the biggest traitor was.

D'Artagnan believed it wasn't kind to continue torturing an already injured man, so as one he and Porthos began guiding Athos towards the exit of the emergency room.

"It's highly unlikely that I'll lose my way to the exit," Athos moved just a step ahead of them.

"Last time you were this drugged up, you ran into a wall." Porthos reminded him although he did let go of his friend's elbow.

Taking cue from the man d'Artagnan too allowed the distance and turned to toss the keys to Aramis; who snatched them out of the air without even looking up from where he was bent to pick up Porthos bag. They had needed it for Athos' change of clothes.

"Oh hey Rochefort?"

A sickening crunch followed that cheerful inquiry and then the hallway filled with muffled curses. They didn't turn back but Porthos snorted, d'Artagnan grinned and he didn't miss the tiny upward tilt of Athos lips even as he shook his head.

"My apologies Captain; there was a spider on the wall," Aramis walked backwards away from the rather weary group, "Rochefort got in the line of my shot."

D'Artagnan felt rather than saw him coming to a stop beside him. He cast a glance at the red specks on the older man's knuckles.

"Not mine,"

"Good," Porthos grinned and reached across Athos, "I'm driving."

"No way," Aramis snuck the keys behind his back, "d'Art gave them to me,"

"And I'm taking them back,"

"Not if you can't catch me," Aramis darted out of his reach and hurried down the corridor.

"You want to race?" Porthos was moving ahead before he called out.

"You're on,"

"Wait!" d'Artagnan spoke too late.

Both men were off, dodging the medical staff, the few patients and out the doors they went; their distant whoops echoing in from the nearly empty parking lot. D'Artagnan winced at the unmistakable sound of Porthos tackling a man that reached them before the doors to the emergency wing closed after the two.

"Think I should tell them that were the keys to the flat?" he asked.

"Think Aramis doesn't know that already?" Athos challenged.

On second thought, of course Aramis would recognize the keys to the flat that he shared with Athos and Porthos, d'Artagnan shook his head with a small smile and followed Athos out the wide sliding doors of the emergency room.

Aramis stood dusting off his clothes halfway to the car while Porthos was shuffling his feet in that awful pattern he called a victory dance. D'Artagnan had to remind himself that these were highly trained, ex-army, elite men of Treville's Security, Investigations and Retrieval Company.

It was rather difficult to hold on to that thought when Aramis grinned at his friend, threw his hand in the air and then, "I call shotgun!"

Porthos looked down at the keys he had acquired and frowned.

"You cheated,"

"You tackled me,"

"You asked for it,"

"It was a race."

From beside d'Artagnan, Athos didn't even pause to regard his two friends who were by then standing toe to toe. The man simply walked past them, opened the front passenger side door and slid inside. The sound of the car door closing had the other two looking its way in perfect synch.

Grinning at their obvious shock, the youngest of the group offered each a pat on the shoulder as he passed them by to the driver side and settled behind the wheel. D'Artagnan wasn't surprised by the loud laughter that followed him in and still chuckling the men took the back seat.

As they pulled out of the parking lot d'Artagnan sneaked a glance at their injured team leader and was pleased to find him halfway asleep, courtesy of the good drugs the doctor had apparently administered. A glance in the rear view mirror showed Aramis riffling through his bag while Porthos was fiddling with the remote control of the car's sound system. A calm feeling of peace filled the vehicle and then an innocent beep.

The sound of ocean waves filled the car.

"Not this again." Aramis groaned.

"It's soothing," Porthos told him.

"It's itchy,"

"It's relaxing,"

"Gimme that!" a sound of short scuffle followed.

It took every ounce of d'Artagnan's fading control to keep his eyes on the road; which was why he saw an obviously drunk man stumbling onto the road at the last minute and d'Artagnan turned the steering wheel hard. The car did a wild zigzag to dodge the man as well as make the turn around the curb.

It weaved and screeched and straightened. D'Artagnan felt his heart hammering in his chest and consciously loosened the white knuckled grip he had on the steering wheel. He looked to man beside him who was leaning against the door and still out of it. Niggling worry squirmed in his thoughts even though he assured himself that sleeping off the pain medication was normal. And no matter the evidence to the contrary these men were normal human beings, the newest member of Team 1 told himself as blessed silence filled the vehicle.

"Great you put d'Art to sleep with all that soothing and relaxing."

"I did not!"

D'Artagnan clenched the steering wheel just a bit tighter. He was dreading the day he would have to take a road trip with these men; it was only a matter of time when their team would be sent out of city. The boy suppressed a shudder.

"It could be worse; he could have wrapped the car around a tree,"

"He hadn't fallen asleep."

"Or a street light pole, that could have been even more worse,"

It had been just a few days since he had officially joined Team 1, if he asked nicely maybe Treville would take mercy on him and transfer him to just a bit saner lot. The deal was to work for the Captain, not necessarily with this group of men.

"It was that drunk! I did not put him to sleep,"

"You did," Aramis replied, "Now shush, I'm ordering food."

Porthos plucked his phone from his hand and held it as far away as he could in the cramped backseat. D'Artagnan was worried he might drop it on the road as he stretched his hand out the window to keep away from his friend's grabby fingers.

"We are not ordering Indian again," Porthos said, "We'll have noodles, some dumplings."

"Pizza," Athos spoke up.

D'Artagnan very nearly jumped in his seat.

Athos didn't even open his eyes much less to try to lean away from the glass of the window his head was pressed again. Dialing the call he tossed his mobile phone in d'Artagnan's lap.

"You choose the toppings," he said.

The youngest glanced down at the mobile phone, stopped the car at the side of the empty road and pressed the piece of technology to his ear even as he glanced back in the rear view mirror at the two men behind him. D'Aragnan wasn't one to feel unsure, some would even say that he was a bit cocky but then one had to be if they had to survive in the less-than-legal profession he had chosen; you don't just get a well paid client if you don't have confidence in your skill set. But to his deep embarrassment he found himself on uneven ground by the simple order Athos had given him, after all he was new to this group, he hadn't formed a place, if any, within the dynamics these men shared; why should his opinion be sought then and why should it not be resented by the two who had for once gone quite in the back seat.

He was so busy staring at the rear view mirror that it came as a surprise that another person was talking to him from the other side and had been for quite a while if the hint of irritation was to go by in the voice.

D'Artagnan placed the order and then came the dreaded question about the toppings.

"Uh...um..."

"I must have been out of the country when that flavor came out," Aramis snickered.

The boy's eyes narrowed and just for that d'Artagnan ordered extra jalapeños because he had seen Aramis pick them out of the burgers Team 2 had brought for them. There was something very satisfactory in the dramatic groan that came for the older man and Porthos snorted.

"Well played pup," he said.

"Not a pup," d'Artagnan got the car moving again.

"Aramis?" Porthos asked.

"Oh absolutely, he's a pup just look at those eyes…"

And just like that the teasing was targeted his way. D'Artagnan was gnashing his teeth by the time they pulled to a stop in front of the building where the three men lived. He let Porthos manhandle their team leader out the car and up to the flat while Aramis lead the way shouldering three bags and a long case that d'Artagnan tried not pay mind to. He was still just getting used to the almost casual way Aramis' lugged around his sniper rifle.

He wasn't surprised when another argument broke out over which movie to watch until Athos declared it a Lord of the Rings marathon. They had just gotten to the council in Rivendell when Aramis and Porthos, who had taken up residence on the floor with their backs pressed against the sofa on which Athos was lying, got up and went into the rooms across from each other down the corridor. They returned with an armful of pillows and blankets.

D'Artagnan watched quietly as they adjusted Athos on the sofa so that the pressure on his cracked ribs would ease, they worked in a perfect silent rhythm tucking in pillows, rolling a blanket and shaking out another. Aramis caught him staring and smiled.

D'Artagnan dropped his gaze and startled when a pillow hit his face. He looked up to find the two men settling back into their places.

"Sometimes when the pain and pain killers muddle your thoughts it's good to know you're needed," Aramis shrugged, "keeps you tethered to reality."

The boy suddenly realized that neither of the two had argued with Athos the entire trip. Yet while Athos' word was final in the field aside from that he had been often on the receiving end of 'just a suggestions,' 'all I'm sayings' and 'maybes.'

D'Artagnan looked to the sleeping form of the man he had come to respect and idolize much too quickly. He didn't miss the way Athos' hand fell out from under the blanket and even in his sleep his fingers curled around the garment of Porthos' and Aramis' shirts at the point where their shoulders touched.

His attention diverted back to the two on the floor who were each pulling his way the blanket they had shared to spread over their outstretched legs.

"I think one day you two will kill each other," d'Artagnan muttered.

"True, but we won't let anyone else do it," Porthos shrugged.

With a shake of his head d'Artagnan pushed to his feet, he did not see the hand that sneaked out and yanked his ankle from under him. He landed on his rear; back in the armchair he had previously been occupying and glared at Aramis.

"You're staying," said the older man.

"I am?"

He was smacked in the face by the last blanket for his question. He could have dumped the pillow and the blanket right back at them, he could have come up with a number of fake yet valid excuses and left them to finish the movies. But the trip back to his place suddenly felt too quiet, the tiny room he rented somehow felt colder tonight and d'Artagnan sank back in the overstuffed chair.

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 **What do you think?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank YOU! to all who read, favorite, follow and review this story. You people are the best for taking the time to do so. And the reason that the single scene in my mind had now extended to two.**

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He woke up to the warm scent of happier times of his childhood. It eased the dull ache in his side and even before he had opened his eyes, he knew that Porthos had been baking. The big man had learned the skill from his mother and it was his way to keep her memory alive. But he wasn't the only one who thought of the dear Mrs. Du Vallon every time they sniffed a freshly baked sweet treat, Athos knew that he and Aramis as well, had many good memories of the wonderful woman who whipped up those amazing cupcakes each time they would visit her during the half term breaks.

It was the thought of the cupcakes that did it.

With a grimace Athos slowly pushed his stiff muscles into movement and sat up on the sofa. His bare feet hit the hardwood floor and he rubbed a hand over his face, down his beard. He stopped short when his gaze fell on the long limbed figure on the armchair to his side. Turned onto his side, one arm dangling over the armrest and face pressed into the pillow at an awkward angle was d'Artagnan.

Athos shook his head at the sight; the boy was even drooling a bit.

Once upright, Athos shuffled over to the sleeping young man and gently shook him awake. It only took him four tries and d'Artagnan finally sat up with a yawn. Eyes still blinking lazily the boy obediently took to his feet.

"Bathroom, down the hall," Athos pointed, "New toothbrushes' are in the cabinet under the sink."

D'Artagnan nodded and mumbled something that vaguely sounded like a declaration of understanding. But Athos still stood and watched until he had made it to the correct door. Then he slowly made his way to the kitchen.

" 'Morning!" Porthos grinned at him from where he was leaning against the oven.

"thouf you'dh be swleeping 'onger," Aramis frowned around the cupcake he was consuming. Sitting cross legged on the countertop he twisted to look at the time piece on the refrigerator behind him.

"Swallow," Porthos reminded him.

"Then you shouldn't have let Porthos bake," Athos told him as he sat down in one of the chairs.

He picked up the yellow topped baked confectionery as Porthos set a mug of coffee for him on the counter, out of the range of Aramis' knee.

In one bite he was back in the kitchen of the home that could have probably set easily in the lounge of his own house and yet had more space than the entire de la Fere estate could offer him. He had felt instantly drawn into the warmth that was Porthos' mum the first time he had seen her come to take Porthos home from their pre-prep school; even Aramis who had turned up a few years later with a general distrust for grownups hadn't been able to resist her. Athos had a feeling she was the only grown up his friend had ever listened to.

"Did you wake the puppy?" Aramis asked him.

Before Athos could answer, d'Artagnan shuffled through the door, caught sight of the three men and stopped. He openly stared at Porthos and Athos reasoned that it would be hard to reconcile the image of the man who enjoyed throwing people across the training mat with the one that was standing in the kitchen.

Porthos for his part glanced down and realized for the first time that he may be looking a bit strange, wearing his vibrantly coloured, floral patterned, 'Flour Power' apron.

"Lost a bet to this one," he pointed to Aramis.

"And what a bet it was!" the other grinned and brushed the crumbs off his beard. "You should've seen the look on his face when Ninon actually cornered Athos for a kiss."

Athos coughed in his coffee and glared at his friend who helpfully handed him a napkin. He ignored the snicker that came from the boy who had sat down beside him. D'Artangan was ready to add a comment but the glare cut his way and he raised his hands in the universal gesture of I – mean – no – harm.

"That's it I'm cutting you off," Porthos grabbed the trey of cupcakes.

"Aw come on! That's not fair!"

"I baked them,"

"And I eat them; that's how it works," Aramis said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You've had four already,"

"I'm hungry,"

"Try a sandwich then," Athos cut in.

"I'm hungry for cupcakes,"

Porthos kept the trey out his reach and handed a piece sugary goodness to d'Artagnan. In a flash, Aramis leaned far back, snagged a treat and stuffed half of it in his mouth until he looked like chipmunk.

"If you choke on that, I'm not coming to your funeral." Athos told his friend.

"These are great!" d'Artagnan sounded surprised as he stared at the baked good in his hand.

"He'sh tha besht," Aramis nodded empathetically.

"Raised by wolves," Athos rolled his eyes and tossed the napkin back to Aramis.

His friend swallowed and grinned wide, "Only in the company of," he said and took another, more normal bite of the stolen merchandise.

"I mean these are should-be-in-a- bakery kind of good," d'Artagnan clarified as he devoured the cupcake, "You could have sold these."

"Thanks," Porthos nodded but the smile had lots it light.

Athos glanced from the, slow, measured way the big man slid the trey back on the countertop to Aramis who was staring down at the remaining cupcake in his hand. He gently settled the small piece down on the previously ignored plate and nudged it just a bit away from him.

Mrs. Du Vallon had worked hard to set up her bakery, raised it to a success right along her little boy and it had taken only a matter of weeks for daddy d'Herblay to sink that dream. She never quite recovered from the shock of it and neither had Aramis; he had always believed that he would be the only target of his father's wrath. Even though Porthos had never blamed Aramis, still their young friend held himself responsible for the loss of the business and the death of the woman they all loved only a few months after she lost the bakery.

Suddenly not that hungry, Athos cleared his throat.

"It's too bad Porthos here didn't want to become a pastry chef." He said, "He needed a bigger arena and something more animated to pound into than a chunk of dough,"

"Fame and fortune and legally running down people," Porthos laughed suddenly.

Athos knew he was remembering the time he had explained his decision to his two best friends, one evening on the school rooftop. But a glance to the side showed that the youngest, newest member of their group hadn't caught on.

"Rugby," Aramis finally looked up, "and he was this scrawny, all joints sort of a kid back then. Athos and I were sure we'd had to dig him up from the field once the game was over."

"You two were my best cheerleaders," Porthos reminded him.

"We were hiding the shovels under our seats,"

"I was fine,"

"It was a perfectly reasonable concern,"

"And I was good at it,"

"I'm sure your pointy elbows worked in your favor,"

"I was never _**that** s_ crawny,"

"I have visual evidence to prove otherwise,"

From the corner of his eye Athos watched the boy sitting beside him. He had forgotten to eat as he looked on with a weary sort of interest at the two arguing men. There was eagerness there, a clear wish to belong and an honest fear of rejection. It suddenly brought another dark haired teenager to his mind and it was Thomas looking up in awe at his older brother's friends.

"We were young, inclined to make silly decisions," Athos shrugged lightly as he fully faced the boy, "I wanted to be a fencing instructor,"

"I always wanted to learn how to you use a sword!" d'Artagnan exclaimed then dipped his head in sudden embarrassment.

"That's great, you can be Athos' protégé," Aramis jumped in.

If anything the boy' neck flushed red and his ears turned pink.

"He did tell the Captain he will take your responsibility," Aramis went on.

Athos glared at his friend who grinned back unrepentant.

D'Artagnan sat up straighter in his seat and looked to Athos with unveiled shock. It left the older man wondering when was the last time the boy had had someone to look out for him. By the information Captain Treville had passed on to them, they could tell that he had been unsupervised and independent for a long time.

That was why it was so easy for him to nod in assent.

"We could spend a few hours practicing," he said, "After your training hours are done for the day,"

"That would be – uh that'd be great," d'Artagnan smiled, "Thank you,"

Athos nodded, it wasn't that big a deal and the boy seemed genuinely pleased with the offer. He drained his mug of coffee and got to his feet. The ache in his side had started gaining a sharpness that cut into his breathing and he was hoping to take a shower before the medication completely wore off.

"I should get going," d'Artagnan pushed off his seat after him.

"No way, we were going to have a gaming session." Porthos undid his apron, "You've gotta stick around."

D'Artagnan plucked at his shirt, "I'll have to head home and change,"

"You can borrow my clothes," Aramis hopped off the countertop, "But you have to stay. You're the computer genius, so help me beat Porthos."

"It's a yearlong winning streak." Porthos grinned.

"Eleven months," Aramis corrected him.

"Eleven months, two weeks,"

"Eleven months, ** _one_** week and three days if you count today,"

"Nerd,"

"I wasn't the one with all those scholarships,"

D'Artagnan still looked unsure of the rather insistent welcome. Which was foolish as far as Athos was concerned, not only he found the snarky kid a good company it seemed that so did the other two.

"You can take a shower after I'm done," he told the boy.

"Come on, come on, you have to tell me if you've some practice with this game Porthos brought last week. Oh you can hack it!" Aramis grabbed d'Artagnan by the arm, completely missing the widening eyes and began dragging him after him, "You can find a cheat code!"

"Oi, he can't do that! Can you?" Porthos slung an arm over the slim shoulders, "If you got me those codes and not that twerp I can make you cupcakes for a whole week. Whaddya say? No? A month?"

D'Artagnan twisted his neck to look at the man behind him. Athos couldn't help but smile at the wide doe eyes looking his way in a terrified sort of bewilderment. He could sympathize with the younger man, having been caught between his two friends as the deciding vote often enough.

As Athos slipped into his room and slowly began picking out fresh clothes to wear, voices from down the lounge reached him still.

"There you go; have you tried it?"

"Cartridge? You got it on a cartridge? But it came out two months ago, how'd you get this on a cartridge anyway?" d'Artagnan sounded almost indignant, "And why is it on a cartridge?"

"I know people," Porthos said.

A beat of silence and then.

"What is that?" d'Artagnan was nearly horrified, "That's from the fourth generation!"

"It was my birthday gift," Aramis was proud of it, "I bought it for myself."

"That's like a dinosaur of the home gaming consoles,"

"Watch it," that was Porthos.

"You did not just imply what I think you implied." Aramis said.

"Well if the shoe fits…." Even from so far away Athos couldn't miss the challenge

The unmistakable plop, thump and crash of plushy ammunition and general destruction of the lounge reached him clearly before Athos stepped into the shower.

For the first time in a long time he missed his brother, the guilt and the anger would come later, but for the moment he just missed him. They never got to spend much time together with him boarding at school and Thomas at home. Still they had shared laughs and fears and the way D'Artagnan's eyes had taken to seek him out was exactly the way his brother had done many times over the few short years of his life.

God he should have listened to that kid.

But he had been young, blindly in love and so damn angry at the rest of the world, especially his family. He had done all they had ever asked, gave up his dream and went to study law like his father had wanted. The one time he had went against their wishes was to marry the woman he had loved and he was rewarded with the disinheritance papers.

But that wasn't a punishment that left its mark, no, it was the realization that the one time he decided to forgo duty he had been wrong, so very wrong.

Athos would never forgive himself for the blade of his mistake to have fallen not on him but his little brother.

He should have listened to Thomas.

Should have picked up on the blind spots that peppered Anne's stories.

Should have seen himself pulling away from his best friends instead of blaming it on work and studies.

By the time Athos had stepped out of the shower he was wading again in that pit of self-loathing at the corner of his soul. He was only half dressed when that familiar craving hit him, his fingers itched for the neck of a wine bottle when a knock on the door to his room broke through his thoughts and without waiting for an answer Aramis barged in.

"Should have taken these before you had a shower," he muttered as he handed Athos a glass of water and his pain medication.

Now that he noticed, Athos realized that his breathing was shallower. He had adjusted it for the pain radiating in his chest without even realizing it.

"It'll take a few minutes to take the edge off," Aramis went on as he took back the empty glass and put it on the bedside table, "Sit, let's see those ribs,"

Athos was immensely grateful that his friend didn't mention the haunted look he was sure would have been clear in his eyes. Instead Aramis began wrapping his ribs, chattering on about the video game proficiency of their newest member.

"I thought Porthos was gonna blow a blood vessel when d'Art beat him the fourth time –"

"How's Porthos?" Athos asked quietly.

"He baked and not to the level of mass production and he ate what he baked, so I'd say that he had worked his way out." Aramis' ministrations slowed and Athos knew he had read something off in their friend, "It's never easy to see that, but last night wasn't that bad."

It wasn't really a surprise to know that it had at least been a problem for his friends to work through what they had witnessed. They had known each other nearly all their lives; it was never easy for one to consider a world without either of the two.

"You even gave d'Art a good scare, the kid was genuinely worried about you," Aramis tested the hold of the bandages, making sure they weren't too tight, "This good?"

"Yes, thank you," Athos nodded.

He smiled a little when the towel fell on his head, casting his view into darkness, and Aramis began drying his hair. It saved him from trying to raise his arms.

"And how are you?" he asked Aramis.

"I'm fine,"

"You're never not fine,"

"What can I say, I cope better,"

His view blocked by the towel, Athos could hear the famous winning smile of his friend in the words but his mind only supplied that he coped better because he had been taught how to, too much and too soon.

Even with their lifelong friendship, there was a need to pull back the mask. Athos reached up and grabbed Aramis' wrist to a pause.

" _Athos!" three voices echoed in his head._

" _What the hell happened?" it was Porthos, "We have 'em all! Who shot 'im?!"_

" _Is he dead? Is he –?" d'Artagnan's voice was up a notch_

" _Athos, can you hear me?" Aramis sounds like he's talking to him over dinner, "Athos answer me, come on now, can you hear me?"_

" _Is he – oh God!"_

" _He's not!" Porthos snarls._

 _He manages a small grunt but that's all, there's fire in his chest and his lungs aren't working._

" _There you are, don't breathe deep alright," Aramis says, "Not that fast either, you know that. One, two, three, four, breathe in. Five, six, seven, eight, breathe out. Count with me…."_

 _And Athos world narrows to those numbers until his breathing gets under control. It is only then that he's aware of d'Artagnan's hand on his shoulder and the sound of Porthos roaring at someone nearby, he can hear it in double with the ear piece still in._

" _That's good, you've got it now, that's it," there's no waver in his voice but Athos knows that Aramis is on the move, "Now let the good Paramedics do their job."_

 _And sure enough the flashes of red and blue cast moving shadows on the tarmac…_

"…for someone who's new to all this violence I'd say d'Art held himself better than expected," Aramis said as he pulled away and leaned back against Athos' dresser, sounding almost proud of their new recruit, " he didn't even throw up."

"You waited," Athos said, "You held your position."

"That's my job," Aramis shrugged, "have to watch your backs even if one of you is down."

"You know it wasn't your fault, you had us all covered. Rochefort was friendly fire."

Aramis snorted.

"Nothing friendly about your archenemy," he said.

"Hardly accounts as an archenemy, he's just a jealous cousin with a complex," Athos shook his head.

"A list of them," Aramis agreed.

"Are you alright?" Athos looked him directly in the eye.

Aramis crossed his arms in front of his chest and offered him a shrug.

"I am because you are," he said.

"Aramis…"

"I waited to see if you were alive," his gaze wandered around the wall behind Athos, "He'd gone too far this time and if he had succeeded."

The flinty dark brown eyes looked squarely at Athos.

"I would have emptied my rifle in his head," Aramis said, "I had him in my scope."

Athos suppressed the shiver that trickled down his spine. His friend's presence behind them had always been a reassuring presence, it was precision and efficiency with just a touch of ruthlessness; and for the first time Athos realized what it could mean to the other side. But then Aramis smiled and it was warm, playful, filled with almost childlike excitement.

"Can I borrow your –"

"No,"

"But you haven't even –"

"You are not going to prank the puppy,"

"But –"

"Who won the last prank war in this flat?"

"You did,"

"And what was my decree?"

"No more pranks,"

"Exactly," Athos reached for his friend to help him up.

If both of them held onto each other just a bit longer none of them pointed it out. Athos patted his friend on the back and shuffled through the door with Aramis' request to send d'Artagnan back for a change of clothes.

"And just so you know, you only won because Porthos and I were too much on the edge!" Aramis called after Athos.

"And who put you on the edge?" Athos tossed back without a hint of remorse and a whole lot of pride.

He rather enjoyed the loud cursing of his 'mindgame-ing' ability in English, French and Spanish that followed. Athos moved down the hall towards the lounge where Porthos and d'Artagnan were yelling at each other even with their eyes glued to the screen and their fingers flying across the consoles.

It took some glaring and threatening of pulling the plug but he managed to break the two away from their game. As d'Artagnan grumbled away down the hall Athos settled on the sofa beside Porthos, their shoulders touching.

"Looks like we really did adopt this one," he said.

"Aramis asked him to stay last night," Porthos smiled.

Athos cast him a sideways glance, the weight of it not lost on either of them. That one may appear to make friends almost too easily but he was the most guarded of the three.

"I said do not touch that hat!" Aramis' voice rang out in the flat, "No! Bad puppy!"

Porthos chuckled and Athos grinned, it was good to be home.

* * *

 **It's going somewhere, I think...**

 **Reviews are loved :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This one is more fast paced, since I tried to inject a plot, I hope you people are not disappointed. Those who read, review, favorite and follow this story Thank You! Your response is what gets me to write ahead, so thank you.**

 **There will be violence ahead, I guess I should warn you since there wasn't much in the previous chapters.**

* * *

He sat in the corner of the training gym, his laptop resting on his knees and his fingers flying across the keyboard as the furrow between his eyebrows deepened. Athos watched the boy whose face was lit up with the glow of the screen. He had been working hard ever since the Captain had handed Team One their new assignment, to be effective immediately the day Athos would be cleared for field. Which the team leader had just sorted with the Captain and had reclaimed his active duty status.

"How long has he been at it?" Athos asked from where he stood at the edge of the training mats.

He turned in time to watch Aramis get flipped over Porthos' shoulder, land on his hand and spring to his feet in a loose fighting stance with a smirk on his face.

"Since you went for your swim." He said.

"Missed lunch again," Porthos added as he ducked Aramis' punch and rounded with an elbow strike.

The sound of flesh against flesh rang out as Aramis blocked his friend's hit, grabbed the arm, twisted it back and up just as Porthos hooked a leg around his shin and pulled. They went down hard on the mat with Porthos pinning Aramis in an arm bar.

"Tap out," he said.

"Made him eat a granola bar," Aramis said as his face reddened against the strain.

Athos shook his head, he could only imagine how his friend would have 'made' the boy eat; so far he had hid the charging cables of d'Artagnan's laptop, stolen the extra batteries and the extra extra ones he had bought in vain, threatened to drop the beloved piece of technology out the window of their flat and had nearly tipped a number of glasses of a variety of liquids over the faded keys to make the boy take a break. They weren't the sanest approaches but the most effective in cutting through the unhealthy work ethic that they had found in their youngest team member.

Ever since the Captain had mentioned the apparently very bad cyber attack on their client, d'Artagnan had made it a mission to develop a unique security system just for them. He had gone into 'zombie mode' as Aramis had called it, running research and algorithms and muttering under his breath days on end until the other three had decided to step in.

"Tap out," Porthos grunted.

Speaking of unhealthy habits, Athos turned his attention back onto his friends on the blue mats. It was clear on the two faces that Porthos had upped the pressure.

"It's locked," Athos pointed out the obvious, "you're not getting out Aramis,"

"Tap out," Porthos pulled just a bit more and Aramis clenched his teeth harder.

They never pulled back in their practices with each other, it was an unspoken rule, but sometimes Athos had to wonder if one of them would end up permanently maiming a friend. Stubbornness wasn't a trait to share in any relationship and yet here they were after a lifetime together.

A few long minutes later Aramis patted the leg against his throat and rolled away as Porthos released him. The two men lay on the practice mats, sweat soaked and breathing heavily. Athos walked up between the two, dropped a towel each on their faces and moved ahead to pull their youngster out of his corner.

He was staring down at d'Artagnan for sometime before the dark eyes tore away from the screen and registered his presence, only fleetingly.

"Problem?" d'Artagnan asked.

"I won't have you fall on your face from exhaustion during the assignment tonight," Athos shrugged a shoulder, "You told me you were done with your software last night,"

"I was but Vadim is – well he's taunting me,"

"Vadim?"

"The hacker who stole information from our client,"

"I wasn't aware you were on first name basis," Athos arched a brow.

He was sure that the younger man must have heard the edge in his voice because he was rewarded with a wide eyed stare. It was the longest d'Artagnan had voluntarily looked away from his computer screen in the past week.

"I – he found out we've taken the case," d'Artagnan blinked, "He had been upping his game, challenging me, trying to get past my security…"

"And you think it's wise to play?"

"I'm getting to know his 'weapons' is what you can call them," the boy reasoned, "he's showing me his hand."

"And you are showing him yours,"

"It's a gamble,"

"A reckless gamble," Athos shook his head.

The kid was too used to going at it alone; he didn't understand the need to share the developments and didn't see the consequences of jumping into the fray without a second thought or opinion. Treville would have Athos' head for this; he would bench the team and subject them to 'importance of communication' and 'team building' seminars. Athos' back hurt just by imagining the time he's be spending in a chair after he had only just gotten off the desk duty.

"Shut it down," he told the boy, "Just shut it down,"

"But –"

"Now,"

It was quite, it was soft but it was the order of a man who knew how to hold command under fire. Athos wasn't surprised by the immediate compliance.

* * *

"No,"

"But –"

"Not before you pass your field training,"

"That could take ages,"

"Three months,"

"Athos –"

"No," Athos strapped on the bulletproof vest, checked his sidearm and adjusted the headset. He had sent Porthos for the perimeter check forty five minutes ago and was still waiting for the all clear. They had set up in the security room of the 'Bourbon Cottage,' as the sprawling estate was affectionately dubbed. The name didn't minimize the acres and acres of grounds that needed to be checked for intruders.

"You are here to observe," Athos reminded the boy.

"I was 'observing' last time when Rochefort fired at you," d'Artagnan reminded him, "Look I installed the software already; just let me do something productive to watch your back."

"You'll have a good view of everything," Athos nodded towards the screens that were fed with the cameras from all over the property.

"Serge can do that,"

"I could use another pair of eyes," the old technician spoke up from where he sat in the swivel chair.

"Even if they're puppy eyes," the voice came through the earpiece.

"Shut it Aramis," d'Artagnan did not need the teasing.

"Snippy, snippy,"

Athos was half expecting a growl from the boy in front of him but it was cut off by the loud crack of gunshots in the night. Everyone in the room leaned closer towards the multitude of screens while Athos made for the door.

"Report," his ordered.

"False alarm," Porthos' sounded irritated, "I repeat, false alarm,"

"Red's Guards afraid of a rabbit or was it a bird?" Aramis wanted to know.

"A squirrel," Porthos clarified, "fell out of the tree. Are you sure these men are professionals?"

"They most certainly are," a female voice snapped at them.

"Welcome to our frequency Red," Aramis' grin was clear in his voice.

"It's Ms. Bessette,"

"I believe you have the new ETA?" Athos asked the woman.

"Ten minutes," said Adele Bessette as she met him in the main foyer of the house with six of her men at her heels.

Tall, slim with fiery red hair and sharp green-blue eyes; Ms. Adele Bessette was the Head of Security of the Bourbon Empire and reported directly to its CEO, Mr. Richelieu. She was also the person of contact for Treville's men since only she was aware of the travelling plans of Mr. Louis Bourbon, his fiancé Ms. Ostair and Mr. Richelieu.

Athos followed the woman out into the manicured grounds that were alight with ornate garden lamps and trimmed with giant topiaries. It was a freaking death trap, Athos decided as they cut through the pools and patches of light and shadows. They seemed to be built especially for potential assassins and spies that wanted leverage over the heir of the Bourbon Empire, one of the largest conglomerates in the country.

They had just neared the helipad when Aramis announced that he could hear the helicopter approaching and sure enough, minutes later the beat of rotors could be heard by everyone. The giant bird of metal appeared over the treetops with its nose pitched forwards, it circled to balance the hover over the concrete marked with a big yellow 'H' and then began its descent.

The noise nearly drowned out the surprised grunt that echoed in Athos' ear.

"We gotta breach," Porthos voice came through the ear piece, "He's got something Athos, and he's coming your w –"

A high pitched whine pierced through in his head and the helicopter wobbled from a few feet above the ground. Athos winced, even as he tapped the ear piece and kept an eye on the metal bird that seemed to have steadied.

Communications were down, Athos had a feeling so were the cameras. The sudden isolation dropped like a stone in his belly. With his weapon snug in his hold he scanned the area even as Ms. Bessette's guards moved closer to help protect the arriving passengers. The draft from the rotors beat around him and he ducked instinctually before he motioned for the guards in deep red jackets to move away from the door of the helicopter. Athos was not going to trust any unknown man, not when the situation had gotten out of hand so quickly.

He still had his eyes trained onto the grounds for potential threat as Ms. Besstte ushered out the people from the helicopter. They had just stepped out from under the spread of the slowing rotors when one of the guards pistol whipped the tallest of the passengers, grabbed the woman and the other five of them trained their guns onto the three remaining people.

"Richelieu!" squeaked the smaller man as he fell forward on his knees beside the crumpled form and to Athos' shock, burst into tears. This was not what he had expected from the heir of the Bourbon Empire.

"I'm guessing this is not as per your instructions," Athos quirked a brow.

"It damn well isn't! Gaudet?" Ms. Bessette kept her his gun pointed at the man, "What the hell?"

"Sorry boss got a better offer," the sallow faced man with long hair grinned at them, "a much better offer."

"How dare you! How could you!" Louis scampered onto his feet with his fists clenched by his side, completely ignoring the gun set on him, he pointed a stiff finger towards Gaudet, "Arrests him!" he ordered.

Any other day Athos might just have been amused.

"We don't work that way," he drawled as he kept his shot steady.

They hadn't cut the lights, Athos found it odd but he wasn't going to challenge the one advantage they had. He was pretty sure Aramis could see them even if they wouldn't be able to talk. It was with an effort that he didn't glance towards the far tree line.

There was still a chance to save the three civilians.

"It's been a good going boss, nothing personal," Gaudet said.

There wasn't a foot exposed of the man, he was hunched and had angled his human shield perfectly. Gaudet pressed the muzzle of his gun harder into the nape of the woman's neck and a muffled gasp escaped the young woman; who up until then hadn't made a sound. Her soft eyes widened with fear but she pressed her lips close again.

"What do you want?" Ms. Besstte asked, "If it's money then I'm sure we can offer you more,"

"You can't top the offer I got," the man grinned.

He stepped back with an arm around the neck of Louis' fiancé while his other reached for the door of the helicopter. It was years of knowing Aramis that alerted Athos and he was moving towards Louis even as the first shot dropped the man behind him. Pinning the rich heir to the floor Athos fired at the man holding him hostage as Ms. Besstte dispatched two more and another distant shot announced the end of the fifth man.

Pushing Louis towards Ms. Besstte Athos hurried over towards the helicopter. Gaudet was trying to shut the door and subdue the struggling woman at the same time. Athos wrenched the door open, ducked to avoid the shot at his head just as someone shrieked and shoved him aside. Louis pulled his fiancé out, dragging her captor out as well. Athos swung the rich idiot aside just as Gaudet shot wildly, nearly missing the two men.

Athos decided he needed a raise if he survived this.

"I will kill her!" Gaudet screamed, "My boss will hate it but I'll kill her before I die!"

A single shot, a howl of agony and Athos was pulling the woman away and behind him. Gaudet screeched and rolled on the helipad clutching his shoulder; Aramis had found a target in the shoulder that was exposed when pressing the gun to the woman's temple.

Athos secured his weapon and ignored the curses that the man spat at him as he zip-tied his wrists behind his back.

"You've got them?" he asked Ms. Besstte.

The woman had squished the couple and a rather dazed Mr. Richelieu between herself and the helicopter. She glared at the shaky pilot who had finally emerged and nodded to Athos.

"When you're done with that, pat him down too,"

The pilot gave her a wide eyed look and wisely held his hands up in the air. Athos couldn't fault either of them; trust was the most resilient yet the most fragile thing.

"Athos, you have to see this,"

"Porthos," Aramis' voice sounded like a prayer.

"D'Art?" Athos asked, his voice echoed by Aramis'.

"I'm here," the boy spoke up.

Athos felt the pressure on his windpipe loosen, the fear in his gut unclenched and he closed his eyes in sheer relief. He was so used to having his friends in his head that the silence, abrupt as it had been, had cut him off at the knees. The fact the other three were living, breathing and talking left him wiped out and buoyed at the same time.

"How bad?" Aramis asked.

" 's nothing,"

"It's his wrist," Porthos overrode the youngster's declaration.

"I said it's nothing,"

"It's turning blue," Porthos countered.

"Where are you?" Athos asked.

Ms. Bessette's men had come over the trimmed landscape and she was in a deep discussion with Pierre, her second-in-command. Athos would rather have had his own team escort their prisoner and the passengers back to the house.

"We're in the security room," Porthos told him.

"I'll meet you there," Athos affirmed.

* * *

In retrospect he was glad that he had made it for the security room. Protocol demanded that he should have converged to protect the people he had been responsible for but as far as Porthos could understand it, he was also responsible for their technician and the recruit they had been left in the protection of the men who had turned on them. He would never regret coming down to the security room when he did, the fear of what they might have found if he'd been late sent a shudder through his arms. The attackers had known that Serge and d'Artagnan were alone and out of the two only one had been learning how to properly hold his own in a fight.

The kid hadn't even discharged the firearm they had left with him, even if it was against the rules.

Porthos secured the man d'Artagnan had managed to knock unconscious, and grinned at the scowl on the boys face as he clutched his injured wrist close to his chest and leaned back against the wall.

"I did not!" he said.

"I'm just saying, you seemed quite captivated by that beautiful nurse last time," Aramis singsong voice came through the earpiece, "I wouldn't blame you if you –"

"I did not get hurt just to meet her!"

"You should have,"

"Constance is engaged if you must know,"

"Is she now? _Constance_ told you that herself?"

"Yes she did!"

"That's too bad because she obviously liked you,"

"She did?"

And Porthos chuckled at the hopeful twinge in d'Artagnan's voice. He guided the boy into one of the swivel chairs and turned to berate another guard who dared enter the room. He didn't get the chance as the man in question stepped away to let through Aramis.

With his rifle resting on his shoulder and his other arm spread out in a gesture both warm and mocking he had nearly perfectly hid the fear that hadn't been present in his voice. But it was there; in his eyes that quickly took stock of his friends' well being and Porthos could not call him out on it, not when he was searching for any hint of hurt on his friend as well.

In two strides he had covered the distance between them and clasped his friend's arm, happy beyond words to see him unharmed.

Aramis' smile softened as he gripped back and both of them felt the world tilting back on the tracks. Porthos shook his head with a grin when Aramis slung an arm across his shoulders and dragged him over to d'Artagnan.

"What happened here?" he asked.

"The cameras went out with the communication," d'Artagnan said, "they came in, too many of them and they took my laptop."

Porthos met his friend's eyes over the boy's head that was dipped low in misery; they both knew the works of their young recruit could be very dangerous in the hands of the wrong people. The boy may not have been on the right side of the law yet he had principles, but those who were now in possession of his laptop were not.

"I couldn't stop them and they took it," d'Artagnan looked up at them clearly expecting a reprimand.

"Scared they'll know what's in your search history?" Aramis waggled his eyebrows.

D'Artagnan blinked up at him as though to absorb the words then turned beet red at the implication. Porthos laughed and the boy glared at him.

"You walked into that one pup," the older man snickered.

"I'm not a pup – hey! Watch it!" d'Artagnan glowered at Aramis who had pulled out his injured wrist for closer inspection.

"That's what I'm trying to do,"

"You don't have to,"

" 'Course I don't," Aramis rolled his eyes.

"Better him that the doctors I'd say," Porthos shrugged.

"He just wants Constance to examine it," Aramis grinned even as he palpitated the injured wrist.

Porthos grinned wider at the surprise on the boy's face that turned to him with raised eyebrows; clearly he had not expected the other man's touch to be gentle and precise. He hissed sharply when Aramis checked his range of motion.

"I think it's a sprain, a bad one, but still a sprain,"

"And what medical degree is backing up that assessment?"

"The one he studied for more than half way through the programme," Porthos spoke up.

He couldn't help the touch of protectiveness that crept into his tone; it always did when he talked about his friend's lost career. The tiny philosophical part of him always mused it was because he had not been able to protect and support his friend when Aramis had actually lost it. It was the time when Porthos had lost his mother and his small fortune; he hadn't been able to look past his own grief.

"You studied medicine?" d'Artagnan perked at the new piece of information, "Then how did you…?"

"I chose the more exciting option," Aramis shrugged then grinned wide, "Not all of us can spend their entire lives stuck in front of a computer screen and insist what they do is hardcore."

"You can't appreciate what you don't understand,"

"What's there to understand? Everything boils down to only two numbers," Aramis rolled his eyes; "even a child can identify ones and zeros."

Their youngest team member sputtered before he found his voice to explain the intricacies of his specialty and Porthos felt something warm unfurl in his chest when Aramis leaned an elbow on his shoulder as they both watched the boy go into an animated rant about the importance of his work.

"Gentlemen?" the voice came from the doorway.

Porthos and Aramis turned as one while d'Artagnan came to an abrupt halt. Their world finally found its balance, it smoothed, solidified and settled. Athos walked up to them with all the calm poise of a panther only to have his two friends throw their arms across his shoulders. Porthos dragged close d'Artagnan on their other side and soon they were all within each other's clasp.

There will be time to look through the mess of the assignment that had clearly ways to go. They would soon be worrying about the abrupt attack and its motivations and ramifications. But for the moment they stood in a circle with their arms around their brothers and relished in the fact that the silence between them had only been temporary.

* * *

 **TBC**

 **Each review is coveted like Smeagol's preciousss...**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you all who read, favorite and follow this story. THANK YOU** **SupernaturalGeek,** **Guest, Troy08, Debbie, Tidia, MusketeerAdventure, Cofeecup35 and Deana. You awesome people who left me reviews and I'm sorry that I couldn't thank you individually but life had been hectic and I wanted to get the chapter out and I was writing a chapter for my other story too, which by the way is done. It's been stuck for so long now that I refused to get up until the two chapters were done and they are finally through. I just hope they're up to the mark. This chapter was more of a filler but there will be action in the next chapter, it was getting too long to put it in here, so I decided to cut it off to not leave a cliff hanger, although that would have been a better idea but yeah, please ignore my rambling I'm sleep deprived. Thank You again and onto the story….**

* * *

"You said this Treville would provide us with the best protection possible," Mr. Richelieu scowled as he pressed an icepack to his head, "I thought you knew what you were doing Louis,"

"And your records stated that you had vetted each of your employee," Porthos glared at the man.

"Not that we're saying it's your fault Red," Aramis winked at the rather pale looking woman.

He didn't miss the murderous glare Athos sent his way but it was worth the easing in those slim, tense shoulders; even though the woman looked to him like he was the suspicious blob stuck to the sole of her practical, yet extremely stylish boots.

Aramis glanced towards Ms. Ostair sitting stone faced a little to the side, then turned his attention to d'Artagnan who had refused to sit down and stood rigidly attentive, a step behind Athos. The blue gelled icepack that he had been given was hanging uselessly from his good hand as the boy contemplated his shoes.

"Infiltration within your ranks was an unprecedented event," Athos' smooth tone calmed the tense air in the room, "And we have reasons to believe that the attack on your lives was a tactic to pull our attention away from the real issue."

"And that would be what?" Mr. Richelieu snapped.

"Theft," Athos stated simply, "our attackers made sure our attention was focused on saving your lives, the EMP was targeted to cut off communications but they did not cut the lights. "

Ms. Bessette frowned from where she stood beside Mr. Richelieu's chair. Her fiery curls had loosened from the tight bun at the top of her head and of her hand still rested on the sidearm in her belt. One of the men she had shot was dead, the other almost there when he had been loaded in the ambulance. Aramis felt bad for her, trained or not, taking a life even in self-defense was not an easy pill to swallow. Athos and him had been lucky this time, skill and caution had let them spill blood without claiming a life.

"And what did they steal?" Ms. Bessette asked.

"My laptop," d'Artagnan spoke up.

"Information, and means to gather more," Athos didn't miss a beat, yet Aramis could tell by the shift in his stance that he was bracing himself as he moved just a bit more in front of d'Artagnan.

The boy behind him looked to the back of his head then dropped his eyes. Aramis poked d'Artagnan in the arm and nodded towards the icepack he was ignoring. It unsettled him how the boy complied without question.

"Vadim," Ms. Bessette flinched slightly at the name.

"It is very likely," Athos nodded.

"I've called Treville and he's coming over," Louis twisted his hands in his lap, "He won't be happy with it, this just might be the end of your career Mr. Athos, in fact I'll make sure of it."

"It's not his fault!" three voices rebounded off the walls of the room.

The young heir backed up in his ornately carved chair as his hands came to clutch the wooden armrest. He stared wide eyed at the men who had suddenly stepped up near Athos. The man in question regarded his three teammates with something akin to exasperation and a warning, although it was tempered by the fond light in his blue eyes.

"You will find Mr. Bourbon, that Captain Treville isn't a man so easily swayed," Athos said.

Aramis for his part wanted to goad the man into trying, let him go whine to the Captain and get the team responsible for him changed. He would like to sic Rochefort on this man and onto that bag of ornery that was his CEO.

Aramis was gleefully imagining the merry band of grumpy, fluttery and sleazy the three would make while he made sure that d'Artagnan iced his wrist. He kept an eye on the quite young woman perched straight backed in the chair near the wall. Aramis could only silently curse the woman's fiancé for not trusting the paramedics to look her over and then to go on to completely ignoring his wife to be.

Aramis was well aware that a crash was eminent and that was why he didn't miss the subtle sway and the rapid blinking as the woman's stiff posture deflated abruptly. He was crouching before her even as her breathing turned shallow and ragged.

"Ms. Ostair?" he gently grasped her shoulders and met the round frantic eyes, "There you are. Hi, I'm Aramis and I'm going to help you alright?"

"Anna, I'm Anna, please I don't –" she spoke in Spanish, gasped and pressed a hand to her chest, "I can't, I don't –"

Aramis held one of her wrists to keep track of her rapid pulse and guided her head down.

"You're safe Anna," he switched to Spanish, "It's over, you were amazing to hold yourself together like that, it's over now. You're safe."

"I don't want to die," she mumbled.

The hand he had been holding found purchase in his sleeve and he ordered over his shoulder that he needed a blanket.

"You're safe," he turned back to her, "I've got you."

Her shoulders hitched with a soft sob as her free hand found Aramis'; he tried not flinch at how cold her fingers were and clasped them tighter to instill some warmth as Porthos draped a thick wooly blanket around the girl's shoulders.

"There you go, think you can breathe now?"

"Yes, I – I think I'm going to be sick," she sat up abruptly then clenched her eyes shut to stave off the dizzy spell.

"That's to be expected," Aramis shrugged lightly; "Although there are some people here I would wish you would consider turning to should it comes to that."

The young woman breathed through her nose and opened her eyes. She stared at him for long seconds before a tiny smile pulled at her lips.

"You are disgusting," she told him.

"And you are very brave," he grinned, "Not many women can handle themselves like you did in the situation that you faced."

"How do you know? I didn't see you there,"

"Oh I'm mysterious like that, lurking in the shadows and hatching my diabolical plans,"

Her smile turned into a grin and Aramis decided it was the most beautiful thing he had seen in a long time. The spell broke when Porthos' hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"I'm guessing she's alright now?" he asked as he offered the woman a smile, "Ask her if she needs anything else."

"Nothing else, thank you," she smiled up at the man, "I apologize, I didn't realize I wasn't speaking English. It was rude of me considering the company."

"That's alright; Aramis here rants only in Spanish," Porthos grinned, "Makes it easier to ignore him that way."

"I don't rant;"

"True; it's mostly wild gestures and a string of curses."

"Hey, I don't curse,"

"Sure and I'm a belly-dancer," Porthos rolled his eyes.

His overactive imagination brought the vivid image to life and Aramis burst out laughing. He didn't stop even when Porthos cuffed him on the head and it didn't help that the big man was grinning sheepishly too. Muttering under his breath his friend hauled him up and Aramis was happy to see that Ms. Ostair was trying to keep a straight face.

Throwing a hand across his friend's broad shoulders, Aramis leaned into the warmth that rumbled with errant chuckles.

"Porthos my friend, you are a genius," he said.

"Is she alright?" Louis' voice cut through their cheer.

"She will be," Aramis stepped aside to let the man through, "although some tea and a bit of rest wouldn't hurt."

"I will see it done," Louis held his fiancé by the hand and inclined a head towards the room in general, "my apologies for the spectacle, my future wife is one of a rather delicate disposition."

It was Porthos' hand on his arm and Athos' warning look, that stopped him from explaining to the man before him exactly who it was in the couple with a delicate disposition. Aramis grit his teeth and moved back to let Louis guide his wife out of the room.

He decided not to linger on the fact that he couldn't look away from the woman and that when she glanced back over her shoulder as she adjusted the blanket, it was his eyes that she was seeking. Aramis had never been happier to see Captain Treville, thoroughly displeased as he was, as when he entered the room that night.

* * *

The room was lavishly furnished just like the rest, although it was smaller in comparison. The silky curtains were draped close, the windows shut and the door closed with a soft thud behind them. The man in one of the mahogany chairs set under the crystal chandelier looked up at them. Last time they had seen him, he was unconscious and held up only by the rope binding him to the chair. Porthos pitied the man who'd have to clean up the blood from that upholstery.

"Who patched me up?" Gaudet twisted his neck to stare at the white bindings.

"That would be me," Aramis fell into a chair with his knees on one of the armrests while the other supported his back.

"Think that'd make me cooperate?"

"I'm hoping it doesn't," he grinned and wriggled to find a comfortable position.

Guadet blinked and looked to Porthos; who shrugged and settled into a similar chair on the other side of the small round table, across from their prisoner.

"I know my rights,"

"Good for you," Porthos offered him a smile.

"You must have an excellent memory," Aramis added, "mine's a bit of a mess tonight."

"You always had problem focusing as a kid,"

"I did not,"

"Undiagnosed ADD was what it was,"

"I won't talk," Gaudet spoke up.

Aramis glanced at him in distaste.

"Anyway," he turned back to Porthos, "As I was saying, I was a passionate child,"

"You were crazy,"

"I still am," Aramis announced proudly.

"Yeah you are," Porthos grinned.

"I won't tell you a damn thing!" Gaudet glared at them as he strained forward in his chair.

Porthos gave him a blank look and turned back to his friend.

"Think the Captain would let us go home tonight without filing the paperwork?" he asked.

"Shots fired and men killed, I don't think so," Aramis frowned then turned to look at their prisoner.

A slow grin spread on his face, it was cold, deadly and just a touch haunted. Porthos wished he had not witnessed it again on his friend's face. This was the look of the boy who had finally faced the monster of his childhood; this was the face of the man who had witnessed the ugly side of humanity.

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and Porthos glanced away. It was a good thing Gaudet was too terrified to look away from Aramis.

"The cameras weren't working right Porthos?"

"They were off," Porthos nodded.

It wasn't fun anymore; he just wanted this to be over.

"So if I kill this man here no one's to say that he didn't die out there on the helipad."

"You can't kill me,"

"Why not?"

"You can't,"

"I have a gun," Aramis pulled it out of his holster and placed it on the table between them, "what's going to stop me?"

Their captive glanced from the weapon sitting innocently on the floral patterned marble-top to the man languidly reclined sideways in the chair.

"I – I have information that you want," Gaudet told them.

"We have another man who can help with that," Porthos sat forward and placed his mobile phone on the table as well.

It was the picture of the man d'Artagnan had knocked out, unconscious and trussed up. Gaudet swallowed hard and licked his lips.

"He's dying from blood loss anyway, why can't I just get this over with?" Aramis looked to Porthos, "the others can get whatever they want from contestant number two."

"Felix won't tell you anything, he's too loyal to his boss," Gaudet spoke up.

"And you aren't?"

"Different boss," he clarified, "I don't work for Vadim."

"And who do you work for?" Porthos asked.

Gaudet clenched his teeth and growled as he tried to wriggle free of his bindings. Porthos let him, he had tied them himself there was no way the man was getting out. So he leaned back waited until their captive sagged in defeat.

Aramis swung his legs down and sat up. He picked up his weapon and checked to see if it was loaded.

"Look whoever you worked for obviously meant for you to die here," he said, "I say we finish what he started and move on to this Felix person."

"It was supposed to be a simple abduction," Gaudet hissed.

"Your boss played you as a decoy for Vadim's men," Porthos said.

"He did not!"

"I'm getting bored," Aramis announced and pointed his weapon at the man, "I managed to give you that wound from around seven hundred yards because I wanted you alive, want to guess if I'll miss this shot?"

"I was sent by the Cardinal, alright! I will tell you all you want to know –"

"But I wanted to–"

"Just get that thing away from my face!"

"This is annoying," Porthos sighed.

"I think I should shoot him,"

"Look I'll tell you everything,"

"Must you?" Aramis frowned.

"Yes, I will, but I don't know much," Gaudet slumped forwards, "I'll tell you how I was contacted, I just don't know who the man is but I'll tell you all I know."

"Start from the top then," Porthos ordered.

* * *

"If our records get out –"

"They won't, d'Artagnan is working on it,"

"I think your boy has done enough,"

"You and I both know what the boy is capable of," Athos raised a brow, "hence you've set him to work even after all this."

"He shouldn't have bated Vadim," Captain Treville said.

"No one knew that this Company was his true target," Athos countered, "He was using Bourbon Consolidates as a decoy."

Captain Treville had waited until they were rid of audience to inform Team One that Vadim had launched a cyber attack on Treville's Security, Investigations and Retrieval Company. Since the latest security system had been upgraded by none other than d'Artagnan and with their adversary having an idea of the boy's work, he had had pretty much mowed over the protection of their database. They had no idea how much of the sensitive information in their keeping had been stolen.

"This Felix is not talking," Captain Treville stopped pacing behind his desk and took a seat; "Was Porthos sure that Gaudet knew nothing of Vadim's workings?"

"He was working for someone who goes by the moniker of The Cardinal," Athos repeated the information he had already shared.

"Maybe it's the same man, just different titles."

"Vadim inspires loyalty, the Cardinal obviously doesn't," Athos shook his head, "but we can't rule it out until we find one of them."

"There is a way," Captain Treville pushed forward a folder.

Athos studied the plan of action that his Captain had outlined. It was practical and efficient but for the first time since he had worked for the man, Athos could not accept it. It was a huge risk, one that he knew their Captain wasn't in the habit of taking. The loved his Company but he valued the lives of the people working for him.

"You're sending him to his death," Athos looked up from the pages.

"He's the best choice we have,"

The logical part of him agreed but Athos couldn't risk sending out the boy who wasn't even completely field trained. The early morning sunlight filtering into Captain's office blinded him momentarily and his eyes diverted towards the opposite window.

It had the clear view of the lower floor that they had dubbed as the 'yard'. It was a floor space divided into cubicles wide enough to enclose four desks comfortably; the desk besides his had just started to look lived in and Athos could not dream of having an empty desk in there cubicle again.

His wandering thoughts came to a stop when he saw the tall form of Porthos coming into the yard. There was exhaustion in his gait that had nothing to do with the sleepless night they had had. With the folder still in his hands Athos excused himself from the Captain's office.

"I will not force the boy Athos," Captain Treville said before he could leave, "But time is of the essence and this is the best option we have."

Some days Athos hated his job.

He tried not to dwell on the fact as to why he was reluctant to let the boy go through with this plan. If it had been any other recruit he would have seen it as a chance for the newbie to prove himself, then why was it that he wished he could lock up d'Artagnan where the likes of Vadim could never reach him?

It was those eyes he decided, those eyes that had been looking like at him like a chastised puppy all night long.

"I'm thinking cupcakes for breakfast," he said.

Porthos glanced at him when he entered their cubicle but remained where he was leaning against his desk.

"You'll do the groceries and Aramis will do the dishes."

"I'll send d'Art and he can do the dishes too, wouldn't want him feeling left out," Athos shrugged.

He stopped beside Porthos and leaned against the desk, his shoulder bumped with his friend who seemed to sag in the touch. They stood in silence, soaking in the quite rustle of people settling to begin their day as the yard filled out.

"Remember the first time we saw him," Porthos asked.

He didn't need to clarify; Athos was already picturing the overexcited boy with a mop of dark hair, a missing tooth and a fading black eye.

"It's hard not to,"

"Do you think we could have known then?" Porthos asked.

Athos had asked himself the same question often enough and he had come to the same conclusion every time, not that it had ever eased his guilt.

"We were seven and rightfully annoyed at a five year old thrust in our class, genius or not."

"But later – he was good at it, too good." Porthos' fists were clenched tight.

Athos pressed his shoulder a bit more in silent solidarity; the weight of hindsight was best shared. His friend nodded to himself then cast him a sideways glance.

"What's eating you up then?"

Athos handed him the folder as an answer and watched the scowl deepening on his friend's face as he read on. Porthos snapped the folder shut and pushed away from the desk, running a hand through his hair.

"You think he can do this?"

"He's the only one who can," Athos said, "Vadim would likely trust a fellow hacker and he would easily believe that we have kicked out d'Art for his part in all this."

Porthos handed him the folder with a grim smile.

"Then let's put an end to this," he said; "Don't worry about the pup Athos; we take care of our own."

* * *

It wasn't that he was surprised, it was just unexpected considering the quite shadow of guilt and misery the boy had been ever since their botched assignment.

"I'm trying as hard as I can," it was an irate snap.

"Maybe your trying hard isn't good enough," that was Aramis.

"Unlike the amazing super powered trio that you three are, I am a lowly human being so there is a limit to how fast I can work!"

"You've been at it for hours," there was cold derision in the words.

"That has to be good enough then,"

"Well it's not,"

"Tough," d'Artagnan sounded like he was seconds from biting the head off the other man, "Guess what Aramis? If you don't find it good enough it's not my problem."

"Just like it wasn't your problem that Felix's men stole your laptop?"

"Hey I tried to stop them,"

"Oh, just like you're trying now?"

"Exactly,"

"The trying that's so humanly limited?"

"Yes you bloody show off! I'm human and I gave it my best shot. No one untrained and alone would have been able to take down two dozen armed men!" d'Artagnan had outright bellowed at the other man.

For a few seconds there was only the sound of his harsh breathing and Athos was tempted to cross the distance and throw open the door completely. But then he heard the steps moving towards the door and the voice that came was closer to the threshold.

"Don't forget that d'Artagnan," Aramis voice was firm and just a touch warm, "you keep that in mind no matter what else floats in that head of yours."

He saw his friend emerge from the room and close the door behind him. Athos would have very much liked to have not been standing there in the corridor but seeing as he couldn't retreat without looking like a coward he held his ground. It was also a relief that Aramis approached him like he was expecting him.

"He's punishing himself working nonstop like this," he told Athos, "he was already running on fumes before this mess and that wrist of his needs to rest."

"Captain wants him to go in after Vadim," Athos cut right to the issue.

"We can't send him there injured and untrained," Aramis folded his arms and leaned against the wall, "There has to be another way."

"I tried to reason with the Captain," Athos drew a hand through his hair, "he says that its d'Art's choice. We have a plan if he'd be willing to step up."

"He'd be willing alright," Aramis rolled his eyes, "He'd be tripping over his puppy feet for this chance."

"That's what I'm afraid of,"

"Stupid honorable heroic type, it's like a neon sign across his forehead," Aramis grinned, "good thing that selfish disreputable men like me exist to keep him alive then."

Athos felt the knot in his stomach ease, it was like Porthos has said, they looked after their own and d'Artagnan was most definitely theirs.

"Good thing that your kind comes in sets," Athos allowed a tiny smile to break through as he handed over a bunch on papers from the folder to his friend, "Porthos' down in the parking lot."

Aramis smiled and tipped him an imaginary hat. Athos began to move past him, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He arched a brow in question but remained quite at the abrupt seriousness that came to his friend's face.

"He needs to know you forgive him,"

"I don't blame him –"

"Yes you do," for all his charm Aramis could pull out ruthless honesty when he wanted to, "He shouldn't have messed with Vadim especially without asking you. He put himself in danger by announcing himself on that man's radar. It was just his luck that Vadim targeted the Company, but the blame still lies with d'Artagnan."

Put plainly like that there was no way of going around the problem.

"He's not used to being a part of a team," Athos agreed.

"He'll learn," Aramis shrugged, "You'll teach him."

Athos couldn't hold back a snort; he was the most asocial, solitary loving person in the entirety of Treville's troops. He often wondered why the other two put up with him as it was and now Aramis was insisting that he teach their new recruit the importance of teamwork. How could he? When he himself didn't know how to, when the thought of another person he would let down haunted him every second since the day d'Artagnan had come into their team.

He was surprised to find Aramis grip both his shoulders and turn him so that they were face to face.

"Don't go there," he said, "And don't insist it's not his fault. He wants your forgiveness, not absolution. Let him know you forgive him Athos, before you send him in."

Athos stood in the corridor long after Aramis had left. He could hear the quite grumblings from behind the closed door and it was way better than the silence that the boy had wrapped himself in. He was tried and he was angry but no longer docile. For the first time since the Captain had showed him the plan, Athos felt that it could work.

The loud thump of something hitting the door pulled him out of his thoughts and Athos smiled as reached for the doorknob.

* * *

 **TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**WARNING** **: Here be Violence, blood and torture –ish [kind of, though not much and not descriptive] This is for older Ts and above.**

* * *

"If you're back for another round of your mind tricks I will hit you Aramis, with this keyboard!"

"That's needless destruction of innocent office property,"

"Athos!" d'Artagnan jumped up from his chair with enough force to leave it spinning.

He took a step forward and got caught in the tangle of cables; jerked himself free only to be met with the clatter of the unfortunate keyboard hitting the floor. His eyes traveled up but could not reach the face of the man he could not imagine disappointing. It was a silly hero worship thing, he knew and hated himself for it but his gaze stopped somewhere bellow Athos' bearded chin. There was a gold locket resting on his chest, d'Artagnan frowned, he hadn't noticed it before.

He glanced to the side when Serge closed the folder he had been pretending to go through ever since he had come into the room. D'Artagnan watched him leave and was thankful for the man's act; at least he had pretended not to be the babysitter that he was.

"You've been avoiding me," Athos said.

"I rode back with you," d'Artagnan reminded him.

He would have given anything to stay back with Porthos and Aramis to interrogate Gaudet if only to save himself the risk of confrontation from Athos. But he was needed back at the office, to control the damage his actions had wrought.

"This is probably the longest string of words you've said to me all night,"

D'Artagnan snorted; his silence must have been really bad if _Athos_ was finding it extreme. With a sigh he picked up the keyboard, set it back in its place and entered the last sequence of commands. All the time acutely aware of his team leader's eyes that followed his movement.

"That's done," he still couldn't look the man in the eyes; "you called the police then?"

"Porthos and Aramis signed off Gaudet from the Bourbon Cottage," Athos hadn't moved from where he had come to a stop a few feet away from him, "We'll be calling in for Felix in about an hour."

"So I'll be sent in with him?" d'Artagnan drew a hand through his hair, "I guess that makes sense, we're both cyber criminals."

"That's the plan," Athos shrugged a shoulder.

"I just want you to know it was truly an honor working with you,"

"The sentiment is mutual,"

"I'm a criminal,"

"You're trying not to be,"

"A load of help that was," d'Artagnan sank back in his chair with his injured wrist cradled to his chest, all the frustrated anger seeping out of him.

He wiped a hand over his face, hoping that the harsh stinging behind his eyes was only from staring at the computer screen for so long. It couldn't be tears, he would not, he absolutely would not let the idea of tearing up in front of Athos enter his thoughts.

He had been offered a chance to clean up his act, a chance that he had always wanted and dared not hope for. But when he had miraculously gotten that chance he had gone ahead and destroyed it, all because of his reckless obsession. Of all the people who had the right to be mad at him, d'Artagnan was the one with the worst anger directed at himself.

"So what? You secure me now? Handcuffs or zip-ties?"

"Why did you do it?"

His head came up so fast that his vision swam. D'Artagnan couldn't believe it, the man was actually asking for an explanation. He wasn't writing it off as a foolish act of a reckless man, he was asking for a reason like he firmly believed that there had to be one.

D'Artagnan took a deep breath and let it out slowly; if Athos was willing to have faith in him then he was entitled to be trusted.

"Vadim baited me," d'Artagnan said as he picked on the bandage around his wrist, "He said he believed that my father's death wasn't a simple mugging gone wrong. He hinted that he may know who was behind it."

He had been fifteen years old when the policemen had came to his door with the news, nearly seven years later he could still feel the rain on his face as he had walked back alone to the empty flat. His parents had been from Gascony and his mother had died years before his father had, there was no family left for him in this country. It was something that had struck him hard that night when he had finally collapsed, shoes and all into his bed.

D'Artagnan nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand came to rest on his shoulder. He looked up into Athos' eyes for the first time since the man had walked back into the security room of the Bourbon Cottage.

"When this is over, why don't you tell us all about it and we'll see where it goes,"

"You'd do that?" d'Artagnan hadn't meant to ask out loud.

"Sure, and I know two more men who'd be eager to pitch in," Athos offered him half a smile.

"They won't think I'm crazy?"

He had been called worse for his insistence upon the case of his father's death.

"Not anymore than they already do," Athos said, "And next time you feel like the need to rush into something let me know first."

It took him a few minutes to fully understand what Athos had said, 'next time', next time meant that it wasn't over for him. The rush of gratitude almost choked him and he swallowed hard as he held his mentor's gaze.

"I'm sorry," he said.

He had repeated these words for well over fifty times in the last few hours but none had been drawn forth from such a depth of earnestness.

"Then you're forgiven," Athos nodded.

He patted him once on the shoulder and stepped away. Suddenly feeling lighter and strangely stable, d'Artagnan smiled sheepishly.

"I wish I could fix this," he said.

"There's a way," Athos said, "You can lead us to Vadim."

"How?"

"You break out of here with Felix on the condition that he takes you to the man who cost you your new job and incidentally is the reason you will be sent to prison,"

"That's perfect," d'Artagnan pushed to his feet.

"But we're sending you in without a tracker, a camera or anything else," Athos told him, "There'll be no means of communication. We can't risk Vadim or Felix finding out that it's a ruse."

"That makes sense," d'Artagnan shrugged, "wait, the Captain won't like it, me not being field trained and all."

"It was the Captain's idea,"

"Really? Oh good! So when can we start? You said we had an hour, so do I just go in and talk to him? We'll need a car for our escape from here; I'm guessing you'll be tracing it…"

Athos' lips curl up at the sight of his enthusiasm and d'Artagnan felt like he had been unfairly rewarded, but it warmed him nonetheless and he deftly caught the keys Athos' tossed to him.

"The trace will be set by now and we'll be following you," he said as he handed him his own backup weapon, "He's in interview room two,"

D'Artagnan had never felt more trusted. He knew full well that the plan was depending on his ability to convince Felix and he promised himself that he would do everything in his power to put an end to the threat of Vadim.

"I won't let you down," d'Artagnan promised.

He was about to go and hatch a plot with Felix; his mind working ahead of him and already planning a false hostage situation to escape from the office, when the hand on his shoulder pulled him to a sharp stop. He looked to Athos in silent inquiry.

"Be careful," the man said.

"Of course," he replied automatically.

But the fact that the other man cared bloomed like a flame in him and gave him the fortitude to see this through.

* * *

He was supposed to act like everything was normal, like it was any other day at the office, like their new recruit wasn't down the corridor and planning an escape with a criminal. Athos stood by the entrance of their cubicle trying not to tap his foot in impatience or better yet go and take a peak down the hallway that opened into the yard from the left.

He forced his eyes away from the corridor and looked past the glass wall that separated out the lobby area. The tension eased a bit when Aramis exited the elevator and made his way over.

"Everything's set and Porthos is waiting," he said, "by the way, how come Porthos gets to drive?"

"Because you drive like a maniac at the best of times,"

"I'm a very responsible driver,"

"Responsible for impromptu motion sickness in your passengers,"

"That only happened like seven times," Aramis thought hard, "alright eight, and the times you were drunk don't count."

Before Athos could reply he caught movement to the left of the yard and felt his heart race as Felix emerged from the corridor. He had an arm around d'Artagnan's neck and Athos' backup gun was stuck to the side of the boy's head.

His own hand went to his side arm and everyone in the yard suddenly had their weapon pointed at the duo.

"Don't!" Felix' long face was drawn in a scowl, "Any of you even try it and I'll blow his brains out!"

D'Artagnan's eyes were wide and Athos couldn't decide if the fear was real or an act. He glanced sideways to Aramis who nodded and lowered his hand. More than a few people looked to him in confusion; he was the best marksman they had, if anyone could make a kill shot fast enough to save the boy it was him.

"Just let the boy go Felix," Athos demanded.

"Not a chance,"

"Fine kill him then," Rochefort stepped up closer to the doorway leading out to the lobby, "we're getting rid of him anyway."

"Don't," Athos growl was subhuman.

Soft though the warning was, it reverberated throughout the yard.

"Lower your weapons!" Athos ordered as he lowered his own.

Reluctantly, slowly, people lowered their weapons. All except Rochefort and Charon, they still traced the man who held d'Artagnan in front of him like a shield as he made for the lobby. Rochefort's stance wavered, his arm loosened.

"The man said lower your weapons," Aramis pointed his gun at Charon.

Athos saw the change from the corner of his eye; he lunged for Rochefort a second too late. The sound of gunshot cracked the air and d'Artagnan gasped. His eyes scrunched shut as he tried to reach for his lower leg with one hand as his other scrabbled against the arm against his throat.

Athos watched the blood soaked shin leave a trail of red on the carpet as Felix dragged the boy back into the elevator. The soft ding of the machine broke into the shocked daze he was in.

Athos hauled up the man under him by the scruff of his shirt and ran him into the far wall with enough force to chip the plaster. He stopped with his forearm pressed against the man's throat and a letter opener pointed at his eye. Rochefort inhaled sharply but refrained from movement, not even a blink.

"We need to go Athos," Aramis voice filtered through his consciousness.

He knew that his friend was right, he really should be halfway down the stairwell by now but Athos couldn't ignore the rage that single flash of fear has left in its wake. He had felt this level of anger for only three other people, out of whom two were alive, he could not think of another loss like Thomas'.

"Just stick it in his eye already," Aramis said.

Athos drew back his hand, watched his cousin's eyes widen in fear and buried the letter opener half way in. He only stopped when his fist hit the wall and felt the shudder go through the body he had been holding up.

"Next time I won't be so kind," Athos said.

Rochefort didn't say a word as Athos turned away from him. He didn't see the man slump to the ground, tracing his finger over the cut on his cheek where the blade had grazed him when Athos had plunged it into the wall.

* * *

They burst through the stairwell door like the building was on fire. He had watched Felix drag d'Artagnan to the car he had installed the tracker in and then sat clenching his hands around the steering wheel, waiting for his friends to turn up.

"What took you so long?" he demanded.

He had kept the car running and the moment the doors closed he pressed on the gas. They were out of the basement parking lot and into the street before the other two were strapped in.

"Rochefort," Aramis replied.

"He shot d'Artagnan," Athos stared down at the touchpad that was tracing Felix's car.

"I'm gonna kill him," Porthos swore as he tore through the traffic as fast as he legally could.

Soon they had a visual of their target. Porthos slowed down to maintain a safe distance from them and he glanced to his side to catch Athos looking up for the first time since he had entered the car. The man looked like he was seconds away from strangling someone.

"Or you could take his eye out," Aramis cheery suggestion came from the back, "I thought Athos would do it but he's too much of a gentleman. "

Porthos hazarded a look to his friend beside him and this time caught his gaze. Athos smiled at him and Porthos looked back to the road, the man had bloodlust on his mind alright. The big was suddenly very glad of the traffic that required his attention to maneuver through.

He slowed the car to a stop when he saw the other vehicle enter the parking lot of a shopping centre. Their eyes followed Felix as he emerged from the driver side came around the engine and pulled out d'Artagnan. A dark rag was tied around his shin where the material of jeans was soaked through. Porthos' knuckles were with on the steering wheel at the sight of the boy stumbling in his exit. The older of the two didn't give his hostage a chance to recover and nearly dragged him over the entrance of the shopping centre, unmindful of the people hurrying in alarm.

"Another decoy," Aramis muttered, "He's a bit too fond of them don't you think?"

"What're you talking about?" Porthos didn't dare peel his eyes away from the sliding glass doors.

"Unless he's stopping for groceries, I'd say he'll be switching his ride." Aramis said.

"I didn't consider that," Athos said, his eyes fixed onto the parking lot.

"If I had just missed the chance of maiming Rochefort I'd have hard time of thinking straight too," Aramis shrugged and kept track of the people exiting the shopping centre, "But it's likely a graze, the shot was angled for the feet but you disrupted the trajectory and then we have to account for the glass wall and let's face it we all know your archenemy isn't a great shot."

Porthos caught Athos' ghost of a smile in the side-view mirror and felt the knot in his shoulders loosen a bit.

"They're out," he announced.

The man had pulled on a ball cap, the visor pulled low, and the boy had changed his clothes although the bulge around his leg was visible even from the distance. Porthos started his car even as the two of them made for their vehicle.

"Wait," Athos' stopped him.

The doors slammed shut and the engine revved to life.

"Athos,"

"Wait,"

They pulled out of their parking space,

"Wait," Athos murmured.

Porthos watched them pull out on the road.

"That one," Athos said, "Follow that motorhome,"

Porthos eyes still traced the car moving far ahead and with an exhale through gritted teeth he began turning their vehicle around. Aramis had twisted all the way in the back seat to watch the motorhome pulling away down the road in the other direction.

"You sure about this," Porthos asked as they followed the long black streaked vehicle, "I could see the bandage under those slacks,"

"He wasn't limping," Athos replied, "and the man who got in the back of this one wasn't walking right."

Porthos glanced in his side-view mirror as the other car disappeared from his sight. He hoped that his friend was right; there was a life at stake.

* * *

He had been shot, he had been shot in the leg, he had been freaking shot, d'Artagnan was having trouble to wrap his mind around it. Granted, it was a graze but there was a furrow in his calf muscle that burned like a furnace and bled like it was trying to put out the fire in there.

He really, really hoped that his friends were coming for him; that they hadn't been fooled by the two Felix had sent out in their place with the keys of the car his team was tracking. D'Artagnan pushed up the sleeves of the loose hoodie he had been forced to wear.

He grunted when Vadim tightened the bandage around his wound.

"That should take care of it," he said as he straightened.

"Thanks," d'Artagnan said.

He watched the man go to the sink in the tiny kitchenette and wash his hands. The inside of the motorhome looked comfortable if a bit cluttered. He could see his laptop sitting atop the table between the bed and the kitchen cabinets.

"If I'd known I'd be able to get you to join me I wouldn't have had it stolen," Vadim said.

"You left me no other choice," d'Artagnan said, "It was this or prison,"

"You made the right choice," the man grinned at him.

"You said you had information about my father's death,"

Vadim crossed his tattooed arms in front of his chest and leaned a hip against the table, his sharp eyes studied the man and d'Artagnan channeled his inner Athos to keep his face blank. It seemed to have worked because the man dug in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a card.

D'Artagnan felt his eyes burn as the old thirst for the truth of his father's death reared anew. He took the card with shaky fingers. It was pure crimson with nothing except a silver 'C' embossed on one side. It was the card that had been returned to him with his father's belongings, one that he knew his father didn't own. It was the card that had driven him into the life of stealing information to find the one piece that mattered to him.

"This came with a mobile phone and a prepaid number," Vadim said, "the man called himself the Cardinal,"

"Gaudet –"

"Was contacted separately,"

"You're selling out the man who hired you?"

"Everything has a price," Vadim shrugged, "You and I together can make a lot of money; if I can get your help in exchange for the Cardinal it's a fair deal."

D'Artagnan was tempted, he could truly join this man, disappear from the life he had started building and fall out of the grid of the friends he had made. It would lead him to the man who was in some way behind his father's death who would answer the 'why' that had been haunting him with the ghost of his father.

But then what about Athos, Porthos and Aramis? The men who were his team, the men who had invited him into their circle out of choice.

His thoughts were broken by the sharp beep of a mobile phone. Vadim fished it out from under the papers on the table and answered it with a grunt. D'Artagnan's eyes fell on the wound on his leg, he remembered the worry that had been in Athos' eyes as Felix had dragged him out, he saw Porthos in an atrociously bright apron and he heard Aramis wheedling him to hack a videogame.

No, he could not betray the trust these men had in him.

D'Artagnan looked up as Vadim neared him; he had no chance to duck out of the fist flying towards his head. It rocked him to knees and he winced when Vadim grabbed a handful of his hair to pull him straight. He brought his face up and delivered another blow, d'Artagnan tasted blood.

"You lied to me,"

He offered the man a blood stained grin.

"Gotcha,"

The next hit left his vision swimming. He hadn't the chance to gather his bearing before Vadim shoved him up into the seat and tied his good arm to the chair with a loose chord.

"What's wrong boss?" Felix demanded from the driver's seat.

"You, you idiot you brought him to me!"

"Boss –"

"Is someone following us?"

"I don't know, I didn't check,"

"Well then check,"

"Boss I didn't know the boy was –"

"Shut up!" Vadim turned to rummage in the cabinets above the stove.

D'Artagnan knew he should be moving, should be trying to escape but his ears rang like he had stuck his head in giant bell that's been rung and he felt like he had just ridden shotgun with Aramis. He hissed when Vadim grabbed his sprained wrist and pulled his arm out.

He injected the liquid in his vein even as d'Artagnan struggled to get free.

"No worries mate," he patted the bruise developing on the side of the boy's face, "just a sedative to keep you amiable."

* * *

"Something's not right here," Aramis' eyes were narrowed, "something's happened."

"What?" Porthos demanded.

"I don't know but look how he changed speeds,"

Athos' eyes never strayed from the motorhome ahead of them, it was difficult to maintain an inconspicuous distance between them since the traffic was light. The motorhome had slowed once or twice in the past ten minutes, but then had gone back to its steady roll.

"Maybe the driver is distracted or something," Aramis added.

They had been following the motorhome for a little over an hour; Athos was starting to have doubts about his decision. He tried to stamp out the niggling fear that they were following a family out on a vacation. They were after all driving out of London towards Essex and Athos had a feeling that the trees on the side of the road were a part of the Epping Forest.

If d'Artagnan wasn't in this vehicle then he was well out of their reach and he had told the boy that they would be following him. He was jerked out of his thoughts as Porthos veered off the road after the motorhome that came to a stop on the unpaved roadside.

Two men darted out of its door and ran for the trees.

"Get d'Artagnan," Athos ordered Aramis.

He was off after the two criminals with Porthos at his side.

* * *

The smell of petrol hung like a wet blanket around him, he had been surprised by the amount of gallons of the fuel Vadim had stored in the vehicle. He blinked to clear the pleasant haze swirling in his mind and fought against the alien warmth in his veins. He was tied down, particularly his arm was tied down; d'Artagnan frowned at it.

He glanced at the plastic containers set close together and draped with a cloth a few feet away from him; the cloth formed a long chain that was set alight at the far end.

He needed to get out, now.

With trembling fingers he pulled free the arm bound by the chord and staggered towards the door. His breath hitched at the sight of Aramis on the other side of the glass. The man raised his weapon and motioned for him to get out of the way.

D'Artagnan shook his head vehemently and cursed under his breath when the entire world went swinging out of his grasp. He had to hold on to the closed door to keep from falling flat on his face.

He had to get out.

He squinted at the touchpad of the electronic lock and licked his dry lips; it left a coppery taste in his mouth. D'Artagnan had paid attention when Vadim had left, as much attention as his sleepy mind had allowed.

"Think, think, think, you know this," he told himself.

With a glance back at the nearing flames he entered the first three numbers that came to his mind, his mind wavered and blanked at the last one. D'Artagnan moved closer to the touch pad, his nose nearly touching it, and prayed that the smudge he was seeing on the number he had not entered wasn't a blur in his vision but a fingerprint.

As soon as he entered the fourth number the door hissed. It was Aramis who pulled it open from the outside and d'Artagnan fell into the man's arms.

"Rigged 't," he stammered as Aramis slowly dragged him a few feet away from the vehicle.

"Rigged 't," he insisted and waved an arm towards the motorhome, "he wants 't to exl-ex-expd-boom!"

Aramis looked down at him then hauled him up with his hands under his arms and began dragging him further away. It came almost a minute later and the boom was heard for quite some distance.

* * *

He watched Athos chase down Felix and broke off to the right after the man he assumed was none other than Vadim himself. Porthos dropped him in a flying tackle; he grabbed the man's arm only for him to roll over brandishing a dagger that slashed through his jacket and shirt.

The arc across his front soaked the front of his shirt red but Porthos was sure it was a shallow cut, if a bit long. He looked at the man who was by then on his feet and felt a laugh bubbling in him; he will enjoy subduing this man Porthos decided.

"What're you grinning at?" Vadim shifted his hold on the dagger.

"You," Porthos grinned wider.

He ducked under the man's arm that came with the dagger and slammed him into a tree with his shoulder wedged in the man's sternum. The knee to his face he was expecting and blocked easily, only to pull the man closer by the front of his shirt and deliver a hard punch to his face.

The man fell with his hands on the ground and blood spilling from the broken nose.

"You're Du Vallon eh?" he smirked up at him.

"That means something to you?" Porthos asked.

"Nah, but the person who wanted me to hack into your Company's system wanted three names in particular, you were one of them."

He squinted at Porthos and pushed himself to stand up.

"Yours had a picture, so did the other one," he said, "One name didn't."

Porthos felt the chill down his spine at the words, he knew of only one person in the entire Company who had requested the Captain to remove any of his pictures from the database. There were some reasons behind it that Porthos knew others he didn't, but he trusted them to be valid enough.

He looked up as Vadim lunged at him for a stab and it was with sheer vicious rage that he knocked the man out with a single blow. It was then when he heard the explosion and grabbing the collar of the unconscious man began a fast trek back to the road.

* * *

The explosion was deafening and it had come from the direction of the road they had stopped on. Athos called the emergency services even as he shoved Felix to move faster and saw Porthos come out of the trees dragging an unconscious man behind him.

They saw the ball of flames and black smoke first; the flashing of a police patrol car was next. The officer's were just exiting their car, one of them was moving along the few cars that seemed to have stopped because of the explosion. The other came over to Athos and Porthos who had their identifications out as a reflex.

He looked at the golden fleur-de-lis over their names and the company designation, finally giving a nod.

"These two are responsible for that," Athos handed them over, "Our Captain will be here shortly."

"Are you carrying weapons?"

Without a word they handed over their sidearm, eager to find their missing friends. Athos scanned the area and saw Aramis pushing himself up on his arms at the foot of a tree.

As one the two men jogged forward, reaching the others just in time to watch as Aramis checked their youngest for a break in the neck and spine.

"Doesn't feel broken," Aramis said, "Cradle his head Athos,"

And Athos found himself moving without question. He placed a hand on each side of the younger man's face as Aramis gently pulled him onto his back, bracing the piece of metal that was stuck in d'Artagnan's shoulder.

Athos was not expecting to find the entire side of the boy's face swollen in a dark bruise with his eye puffed shut, he was also not expecting the other eye zeroing in on him and the wide grin that he was sure should hurt the face so beaten.

"Aths! Knew you'd f'nd me!"

"Yeah? And what're we? The side dish?" Porthos teased as he sat down on his knees beside them.

"Nope," d'Artagnan grinned and blinked heavily, "You're the s'prheros! The awesomest kind!"

He tore his gaze away from Porthos and he beamed at Athos like the man was the sun bursting through the clouds to shine on him.

"But Aths' the awesomiest,"

"What's wrong with him?" Athos looked up.

"Concussion?" Porthos guessed.

Aramis ran a hand over the boy's head searching for bumps and bleeding.

"Doesn't seem like it," he said, "he was in front of me, didn't hit the tree,"

"He gave me a set-des-sd," d'Artagnan frowned, "sssdssss,"

"Sedative?"

"Yeah!" d'Artagnan gave them a megawatt smile that drooped quickly.

"The ambulances?" Aramis asked.

"On their way," Athos replied.

Aramis nodded as he searched for any other injury and thankfully found only the smaller cuts and bruises. He looked up and Athos saw him go paler at the sight of Porthos. He followed his friend's eyes and realized that the big man's black shirt was clinging to his front with something other than mere sweat.

"Don't let him fall asleep," Aramis told Athos as he hurried to his feet.

He was going to get the first aid bag from their car; Athos knew that and felt some of the knot in his stomach loosening because it was one that Aramis packed himself, hence would be sufficient to help them wait for the ambulances to arrive.

"Porthos I didn't see –"

"Had more serious matters to attend to,"

"It's not an excuse my friend," Athos shook his head, "I'm sorry."

"Press it hard on the deepest point," Aramis had already pulled out a handful of gauze even as he rushed back to them.

"I'm fine," Porthos grumbled, "look after the pup yeah?"

Athos was about to argue but was stopped by the look on Aramis' face.

"Please," Aramis said.

And Porthos couldn't deny him, grumbling and growling he took the gauze from his friend, pressing it to the center of his chest.

"You're bleeding too," Athos pointedly looked to the gashes on Aramis' arms.

"Exploding glass," he shrugged and turned to d'Artagnan, "Hey! No sleeping!"

" 'm not."

"Tell me about Constance,"

"You said sh' lik'd me,"

"I know she does," Aramis pressed an entire wad of bandages around the metal protruding from his shoulder and settled Athos' hands over it.

"Want to know how?"

"She t'ld you,"

"Nope," Aramis grinned, "she looks at you the same way Flea looks at Porthos when she thinks no one's watching."

"Oi!"

"But unlike Porthos, you my friend would need help to win her," Aramis went on and checked the bandage around the boy's leg.

The wound was bleeding anew but the bandage was holding on for the time being.

"Because Porthos has the entire Baymax thing working for him,"

"I take that as a compliment," Porthos grinned.

"You should," Aramis' smile turned cheeky.

"That canon blaster's a handy weapon." Porthos nodded.

"But until you get that you're still big, squishy and built for hugs,"

Aramis grinned and ducked to avoid the head swipe coming his way.

"Dad us'd to g've the b'st hugs," d'Artagnan spoke up.

Athos felt his breath catch in his throat. He looked down to find the sleepy grin had morphed into a teary frown.

" ' said I w's too curio-cuious-nosy for my own good,"

"You sneak into people's stores of information for fun so I'd say the man had a point," Aramis replied.

Athos glared at him, he may not be the expert on bedside manners but he was pretty sure this was not something to point out when the man was probably bleeding out. Just the thought of it had Athos press harder onto the blood seeping from under his grip and d'Artagnan groaned.

"I tri'd to look into y'r files y' know," d'Artagnan nodded then swallowed hard against the nausea.

"You did?" Athos asked.

"I di'nt though," d'Artagnan hurried to clarify, "jus' search'd y'all in the c'mpny dat-db-files and youuu d'nt exist Aramis."

"Yeah I'm just Casper the friendly ghost," the man replied.

Athos caught the worry in his eyes, d'Artagnan's slurring was getting worst and he seemed to have more trouble keeping his eyes open. Aramis pinched the young man's earlobe.

"Wha – no, there's no Aramis, no pics, no name,"

"It's there,"

"Wh're?"

"In the database," Aramis grinned, "you must have gone right over it."

" 'tis not,"

"It is,"

"Tell me,"

"You'll just ask more questions,"

"Won't, pr'mis, no nosy busn'ss,"

The three of them looked up at the sound of approaching ambulances and more police cars and to all their relief, their Captain. Aramis gently patted the boy lying between them.

"You pull through this and I'll tell you," he said.

He shifted back as the paramedics descended onto their patient and a couple of them helped up Porthos.

"He has been given some kind of a sedative," Aramis grabbed the arm of the paramedic he was talking to so that he had his full attention, "his doctors must know that before they send him under for a surgery, tell them he was given a sedative."

"Okay, alright, we got it,"

Then someone insisted that Athos step back from d'Artagnan and he very nearly growled low in his throat, he was stopped only by the familiar hand on his shoulder.

"They're trying to help," Aramis came to his side, "Come on, let them work,"

Athos stared at his hands as they loaded their youngest on the stretcher and wheeled him into the ambulance. The doors closed and they pulled out and away on the road; it left him strangely adrift. He started when a hand on his elbow guided him over to one of the ambulances in which Porthos sat.

"I told you I'm fine, it doesn't need stitches." Porthos was insisting.

"You're not the judge of that my friend," Aramis smiled.

Athos looked from the offended face of Porthos to the grinning one of Aramis and felt himself pulled back to earth; these two men were his anchor and his wings.

"I can't believe I'm saying this but I agree with Aramis," he said.

Aramis snorted, his eyes widened and his hand went to his side as the other reached for Athos. To his horror his friend simply crumpled in his arms. Distantly he heard Porthos shout as he went to his knees with Aramis propped up against him.

Fear and confusion warred to take hold as he griped his limp friend around the shoulders and the back of the head, Athos felt his self control stretching to a breaking point.

The paramedics quickly pried him away from Aramis too.

"BP's 50/60"

"Tachycardic,"

"Breath sounds' not good, get me some O2 here!"

"Where's the bleed?"

"Found it!"

Athos stumbled back as they tore open Aramis' shirt to expose a grotesquely wide bruise spread across his lower chest and abdomen.

"Rigid,"

"Load him up,"

Athos wasn't aware of the Captain's grip on his arm, he didn't feel the tremors that racked his frame but he was desperately aware of the people taking away Aramis, taking away Porthos, people who had taken away d'Artagnan. He could only stare at the red and blue flashes in the afternoon sun as the wailing sirens added to his living nightmare.

* * *

 **TBC**

* * *

 **Thank you! to all who read, favorite and follow this story. The lovely people who leave me reviews I cannot thank you enough, you are the reason I enjoy writing so much and update so eagerly, so THANK YOU.**

 **I was going to cut this chapter off after the explosion but then I thought it would be cruel :)**

 **now a few notes:**

 **1\. I've never visited the UK so if I get anything wrong about the land marks and roads and such I apologize.**

 **2\. I have no knowledge of medicine except what little research I manage to do.**

 **3\. I have no knowledge of police and legal procedures, modern AU turned very difficult trying to understand them.**

 **4\. I know nothing of explosions and hope that I never do :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Warning:** **one tiny vague allusion to a loss of a child in the past.**

* * *

 _He knows who's on the other end before he even looks at his mobile phone, it's the silly personalized ring tones Aramis thought were a good idea. He smiles just at the thought of his friend who had promised to call him as soon as he gets back; apparently Athos is the second person Aramis would contact._

" _Porthos, tell that friend of ours –"_

" _Athos,"_

 _It's the way he says it that has Athos shaking his head before his friend can go on._

" _They contacted me first and I didn't want a stranger calling you to –"_

 _Athos reels and clutches the wall to stay upright, he leans in and places his forehead on his arm, the paint chips under his fingernails. He breathes like he has just had a race with his two best friends at an obstacle course._

" _Shit – no Athos he's alive – for now," there's a rattle of keys, a thump of footfalls, "Look I'm coming to get you yeah? Just remembers he's alive alright?"_

" _How bad?" Athos' voice is soft and hoarse._

" _Bad," Porthos replies._

 _And Athos cannot understand that, it was supposed to be a training exercise, as simple as a camping trip Aramis had said. One last training exercise before his friend gets to join him and Porthos at Treville's Company._

" _Athos you there?" Porthos sounds far away._

"Athos?"

"Athos?" Captain Treville sounded worried.

Athos realized that he had been staring at the blur of trees slipping by and frowned when he felt the pull of the seatbelt. He didn't remember getting in a car; he certainly didn't remember getting into the Captain's car.

"Captain?" he hated how confused his voice came out.

"There's a fresh bottle of water in the glove box if you want,"

Athos nodded and pulled close the edges of the jacket draped over his shoulder. It was then that he found that it was also the Captain's. He shook his head at having lost time and opened his mouth to inquire how far they were from the hospital.

"We'll be there in the next three minutes,"

"Huh," was the only reply he could manage.

He really hoped that it sounded as grateful as it could before he zoned out again, tossed into the waves of some unplaced sea and let the world carry him on. Treville glanced his way a few times as he led him through the reined chaos of an emergency room and up to the nurses station.

Athos was distantly aware that the Captain was having a hard time of making the nurse divulge patient information and he stepped up automatically, he knew this part, they had done this for each other more times than it was healthy.

The woman behind the counter was small and round with laugh lines creasing her aged face, the face that at the moment was looking very unimpressed at whatever she saw in Athos.

"Hi, I'm Athos and you just received three of my friends here, Porthos Du Vallon, Aramis and Charles d'Artagnan."

"I told your friend already, I'm sorry but we can't share any information unless it's family," she said.

"My name is Olivier d'Athos de la Fere and if you'd be so kind as to check, you'll find that I am listed as family for Aramis and Porthos,"

A few quick keystrokes later the nurse looked up at him, it was the sympathy in her eyes that grated on Athos' already raw nerves. She offered him a sad smile.

"Aramis was taken for emergency surgery, he's up on the second floor you can take the elevator down the corridor there, it's just past the stairwell doors."

"Thank you," Athos nodded, "Porthos?"

"Yes the large man who was refusing treatment,"

"That'd be him," Treville nodded.

"He's up in the waiting room, I think. He was very adamant and –erhm– vocal to not leave his friend's side."

"Now is there anything you can tell me about Charles d'Artagnan? He's a friend and a colleague and –" Athos halted in his realization as the words came naturally, "a brother."

It dawned on him that the boy had no other family in this country, he was as alone as them, even more so because they had each other. Who'd be coming for him? Who would the hospital contact to inform should the worst happen? Athos closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, it only helped a little against his swaying vision.

The nurse looked genuinely regretful.

"I wish I could help you with that, I'm really sorry but I can't –" her eyes widened suddenly, "no wait, you're his emergency contact."

"I am?" Athos hadn't believed that he had the capacity to be anymore stunned than he already was.

"Yes," the nurse smiled brightly, "it's here, Olivier d'Athos de la Fere."

"Is he –? Where is he?"

"He's in the ICU, the same floor,"

"Thank you," Athos nodded.

He fell into a quick pace, dodging patients and staff alike, and didn't even realize when he had broken into a light jog. Not waiting for the elevators he instead slipped into the stairwell, taking two steps at a time with the Captain at his heels.

"…I'm telling you, whatever it is that you want do, it can wait!" the voice echoed around the corner of the cream coloured wall and Athos turned around the bend with enough speed to make his shoes squeak against the linoleum floor.

Porthos stood glowering down at a young man in a white coat who stepped back yet not out of the man's path. His friend looked over the head of the intern and unerringly caught Athos's gaze.

His legs wobbled and steadied like he had stepped out onto the solid shore, like he didn't have to balance himself anymore because the earth had taken his weight again.

"Porthos," he had made it to his friend without even realizing it.

His gaze lingered on the white bandage around the man's front and he wasn't really surprised when warm hands held his shoulders in a life affirming grip. The two of them paused and just breathed in the relief of finding contact again.

"You don't look so good," Porthos spoke finally.

"You're the one in need of stitches,"

" 'Tis a scratch,"

"Don't," Athos grabbed the arm whose hand still rested on his shoulder, "I can't have you collapsing on me,"

He felt the arm in his hold shift, felt the warm hand slide to the back of his neck and offer a gentle squeeze. But even if Porthos smiled his face was grim.

Athos knew that his friend was back in another hospital in another time and he wished that he could say something to erase the dismal look in his friend's eyes and the tense set of his jaw.

It was an aching pulse between them to not have Aramis there, he'd have known what to say, would have known just the right inappropriate joke. Distract and evade, Athos frowned suddenly, his friend was always good with that; so had this been some misguided attempt at heroics? Had Aramis purposely not told them about his injury? Had he known? Because if that was the case Athos was going to kill the man himself.

"They took him for an emergency surgery, he wasn't breathing right –" Porthos drew a hand over his face, "And they won't tell me about d'Art,"

"He's in the ICU," Athos told him, "Why don't you get those stitches put in and I'll go see him."

"But –"

"I'll stay here," Treville spoke up, "I'll let you know if – as soon as I know something,"

Athos gripped his friend's arm just a bit tighter, storing up on the living, solid presence before he stepped away and gently shoved his shoulder towards the intern.

"Don't worry, he'll behave," he told the young doctor.

Porthos glared.

"I'll be quick," said the intern.

"Make it quicker," Porthos said.

Athos again found himself moving, this time back towards the way he had come from and beyond. The ICU was a single hall behind a glass divide. He nodded along as the doctor explained how they couldn't put d'Artagnan under anesthesia until the effects of the sedatives wore off and that they couldn't administer potent pain relief either. He told him that they were flushing it out of his system to get d'Artagnan into surgery as quickly as possible but Athos wasn't paying much attention; he just wanted to have the boy in his sight again.

He froze when the doctor pulled aside the curtain.

The eye that wasn't swollen closed skittered in his direction and recognition flashed in the gaze laced with agony. D'Artagnan heaved himself up suddenly. Athos reached him much faster than the doctor and pushed him down with a hand pressed to his chest. The hospital gown clung to the boy like a second skin.

"Easy, easy d'Art, you don't want to pull out all these tubes and wires."

The doctor quickly checked over the patient to see if Athos' warning had already been wrought useless. Once he was satisfied he nodded more to himself than the other two.

"You can't stay long, five minutes and then you have to leave," he said, "We don't want him stressed any further."

Athos nodded his acquiescence although his eyes never left the boy.

"Athos," d'Artagnan fairly gasped, "Athos haffta to tell you –"

"Sshh, you can't tell me anything if you don't breathe,"

Athos tried not to look at the piece of metal, tightly packed and stabilized, but still stuck in the boy's shoulder. He focused instead on the bruised face that was creased deeply with pain. It stuck in his throat like a burr when d'Artagnan nodded and dug back into the pillow as though to pull away from the pain.

"They'll be taking care of your shoulder soon,"

"Vadim," d'Artagnan ground out, "he didn't know at first," he breathed out through his nose and clenched his hands in the wrinkled sheets.

Athos reached out and took the nearest one before he could check himself. The surprise was enough for d'Artagnan to swing his head his way and stare at their hands. Athos tightened his hold and a second later, as though the message had finally gotten across, the hand in his squeezed back; harder than he would have expected and harder still as d'Artagnan seemed to brace against the pain vibrating out of his shoulder.

Standing there and watching his young friend measure his breathing, Athos wished he could go and flay Vadim with one of his beloved rapiers.

"He gotta phone call," d'Artagnan held his gaze, "he gotta a phone call and he knew then,"

It was years of practice that helped him keep his face blank as he nodded at his friend. He didn't want his panic shared by the already agitated boy. Later, when he was sure that all his team was accounted for he would be having some serious discussion with the Captain.

"We'll get to the bottom of this," he told the boy, "you just focus on getting better alright?"

D'Artagnan squeezed his hand and offered him a sharp nod.

Then the doctor was there and he was being politely but firmly ushered out.

Athos squinted under the suddenly too bright fluorescent lights that gleamed off of the polished floor. An abrupt dizzy spell had him throwing out his hand to catch his balance against the wall. Athos swallowed back the sick feeling swirling in his stomach and leaned back against the blessedly cool wall.

The last thought on his mind was to go and check on Aramis.

* * *

Porthos had been quite certain that he had had his complete share of surprises for the day and then some; he was in no way prepared for the sight of Athos being wheeled into the bed space beside him.

It reminded him of the time Athos had caught that awful stomach flu at school. Despite him being quarantined early to the medical, Aramis and Porthos had followed him in his sickness, one after the other, much to the confusion of the school administration. None of the three bothered telling them that the two had snuck in at every opportunity to stay with their ill friend before they had succumbed to the germs.

Porthos pushed off his bed as he pulled on his ruined shirt and noted the occupant on the next bed blink awake.

"Let's not make this a competition this time," he said.

"I didn't want to make it a completion the first time," Athos groused.

He swung his feet down and sat up; eyeing the IV stuck to the back of his hand and glanced up at the plastic bottle that was more than halfway empty.

"What happened?" he asked.

"The pup wasn't the only one running on fumes,"

"I didn't think it was that bad,"

"When was the last time you ate? And no, sharing a congratulatory drink with the Captain doesn't count."

Just by the fact that there was no sarcastic retort he knew that his friend had caught on with what was wrong with him. Athos drew a hand over his face and through his hair; Porthos didn't miss the soft tremble. He plopped down beside his friend and stopped him from picking at the needle in the back of his hand.

"How's d'Art?" he asked.

"In pain,"

"They're still waiting out the sedative huh?"

"They're flushing it out of his system, will be taking him to get that metal out soon," Athos slumped a little until their shoulders bumped together, "Someone told Vadim that it was a ruse,"

And the surprises just keep rolling in Porthos thought as he pressed a bit closer to his friend. A few minutes later, he glanced sideways at the man who had exhaustion pouring out of him. Porthos rubbed the back of his neck and debated whether to burden the man further with the information that had been roiling in his gut.

"Someone specifically asked Vadim to pull our files from the system," he said, "They knew Aramis' name apparently,"

"Do you think it's him?"

"That's what I've been thinking, but to what end?"

"Maybe he wants to get in back into his life," Athos frowned.

That was what Porthos was afraid of, the underhand way to obtain information about their lives was not a move above d'Herblay Senior; but if the man was finding a way into the life of his son again Porthos would not allow it. He'd done enough damage to last his friend more than one lifetime and this time around Porthos wouldn't let the man anywhere near Aramis.

"We won't let him," Athos voice was steel; cold, firm and sharp.

They both jumped slightly when Porthos' mobile phone buzzed. It was a message from Treville and Porthos felt the worry tightening in his chest. It eased somewhat as he read the text.

"They took d'Artagnan for the surgery," he informed Athos.

"Aramis?"

"Nothing yet,"

Porthos felt he should be glad that at least there was no bad news but the fear that still weighed on his heart wouldn't ease until he saw his best friend alive and alert again.

The two of them waited for Athos to be discharged and then made their way up to the waiting room together. They arrived just in time to hear the doctor asking for Aramis' family and hurried over to the blonde woman in dark blue scrubs.

"We're here, is he – how is he?"

"I'm Doctor Samantha Greene, the head surgeon for this trauma surgery and I'm pleased to say that Aramis came out of the surgery better than expected," she said, "He came in hemorrhaging from a lacerated spleen, already suffering from hypovolemic shock and acute respiratory distress."

"… _he was in front of me, didn't hit the tree."_

It came unbidden to his mind and Porthos realized that d'Artagnan may not have hit the tree but Aramis did, he couldn't believe they had missed that. Porthos blinked to clear the sudden blur in his gaze and felt rather than saw Treville shift his weight on his feet while Athos' hold on his arm tightened.

"Despite the severe blood loss, the laceration itself was a grade II injury which is why we were able to save his spleen,"

Porthos nodded, finally, some good news.

"So he'll be alright?"

"Barring further complications," Doctor Greene said, "for now we'll be keeping an eye for any sign of infection and his blood volume, it's still not up to the mark but we have a transfusion going."

"But he's fine otherwise," Captain Treville prodded.

"Complications can arise in such a case where so much blood loss has occurred, he could go into a cardiac arrest and we can't know if the lack of oxygen to the brain caused any damage until he wakes up."

"Can we see him?"

"We're transferring him to the ICU; you can visit for a few minutes once he's settled."

Porthos looked to his friend and knew Athos was thinking the same thing. He glanced back to the doctor who was staring at them with stern dark eyes, clearly having picked up on the hesitation.

"Aramis has a habit of waking up swinging, especially if someone he doesn't know is the one who touches him awake," Porthos explained, "it's not something that usually happens when he's sleeping but he's been unconscious and he wouldn't know where he is…"

"I'll inform the nursing staff, they can use restrains as a precaution."

"NO!" three voices resounded in the waiting room.

Porthos drew a hand over his face; the mere thought of his friend tied down left a shiver in his bones. They each had been there, bound and at the mercy of their enemy, it was obviously an experience no one wanted to repeat.

"It would only panic him more," he said, "just let me sit with him."

"That is against hospital policy,"

Doctor Lemay had insisted that once, he had ordered the restrains too, it was only a stroke of luck that no one had died when Aramis had come around in the recovery room with the nurse looming over him. After that Porthos and Athos were never asked to wait outside till their friend woke up.

"It is your decision Doctor Greene, but my friend in there has been through some worst hells you can imagine and he's capable of escaping much stronger restrains than you can offer." Athos spoke with cold certainty, "If he wakes up not just disoriented but tied down, I can assure you the damage would be much more than you can anticipate."

And that was how, one hour fifteen minutes later Porthos found himself outside the curtained spot where his friend was.

With a bracing inhale he edged the curtain away and moved in, only to stop short at the sight before him. He had no idea what he was expecting but it was not this. The bulk of bandages under the gown and the covers were hardly visible; and if he could ignore the wires and the tubes and the oxygen mask covering half of his face, it was almost as if Aramis was asleep; terribly peacefully so.

Inching closer Porthos laid a warm hand across his friend's forehead; it was cold, as if to match the pasty white hue Aramis' skin had taken. That combined with the dark smudges under his friend's closed eyes brought a hard lump to Porthos' throat.

He looked, terribly, horribly peaceful.

"You're an idiot you know that?" Porthos slid his fingers in the tousled dark hair and swiped his thumb back and forth over the cold forehead, "a blind, loyal idiot."

* * *

It wasn't that he didn't like spending time with Athos, he had been ecstatic at the worry that the man displayed for his well being and the quiet attentiveness to his every shift and grimace had been endearing even if a little mortifying. But this was just ridiculous.

"You're sulking," d'Artagnan told the man sitting by his bedside.

Athos didn't move except for lifting his gaze off of the newspaper he was holding up. The challenge was clear in his eyes.

"And you're hiding," the younger man stated, "you still haven't gone to see him have you?"

Athos looked back down at the piece of paper he had been pretending to read for the past hour. His eyes again were fixed on the same spot.

"Porthos says he needs the rest, the doctors are worried he isn't sleeping like he should," he said.

"And you're procrastinating,"

"Should I leave?"

"No," d'Artagnan couldn't understand exactly when had he become the reasonable one in this, "I'll be discharged by tomorrow at the latest, what excuse will you have then?"

"I'll visit him tomorrow,"

"Porthos said they'll be stepping him down from the ICU today," d'Artagnan pointed out.

Before Athos could reply to that, a soft knock on the door startled them both and d'Artagnan couldn't help but grin at the unexpected visitor standing in his room.

"Constance,"

"Hi," She said.

"Hi," d'Artagnan grinned wide, "Constance Hi! You're here. Oh my God you're here."

He felt like the biggest goof but he couldn't really find any eloquent words, not when his mind was in overdrive by the shock and joy at the sight of the woman. He was half worried he was having another 'interesting' reaction to some pain medication.

He hardly noticed as Athos offered a polite smile to the woman and hurried out of there.

"I heard what happened, actually I found out and I asked around and – are you alright?" she asked.

"Absolutely," he grinned, "I'm just – I can't believe you're here."

"I was really worried," she tucked an auburn curl behind her ear as her face streaked pink, "I heard you were in an explosion,"

"Not exactly in it," d'Artagnan said.

"I'm glad,"

"You were worried;" he teased gently.

The colour rose to her face again but her dark blue eyes met his head on as she gave a nod and a shrug. That's what d'Artagnan had been captivated by the first time they had met, this woman was no shrinking violet.

Constance took a seat that Athos had so hastily vacated.

"Who told you about it anyway?" He asked.

"A woman, she came to our hospital looking for you," Constance explained, "She was asking around and she said you were in an explosion."

"A woman?"

D'Artagnan wasn't a recluse but he hardly made friends that would come looking for him if they heard he was injured. The three men who had come into his life recently were the only exception; he couldn't imagine any woman who would be worried for him, except apparently Constance.

"She didn't give a name, but she was really pretty," Constance searched his face, "tall, dark hair, striking eyes."

He frowned as he came up blank and shrugged. Constance smiled at the confused look he was giving her.

"She had a tattoo on her wrist," she remembered, "three blue flowers,"

It struck him then, it was her, the woman who had literally saved his life that day so many years ago. She had scraped him off the alley floor and told him to look for Athos if he wanted the answers to his father's death. If nothing else, he had this woman to thank for setting him on the path that had led him to a newer, better life.

"You know her then?" Constance almost sounded disappointed.

It warmed d'Artagnan's heart to see her upset over this but then he couldn't let her suffer and shook his head with a smile.

"I've met her only once and I don't even know her name," he said, "she helped me once,"

"So she's a guardian angel?"

"She sent you to me didn't she?"

"I found you all on my own," Constance announced, "You wouldn't believe the number of people I had been nagging for information."

He was still somewhere between gaping and laughing when the door to his room was opened again. The rattle of wheels announced the arrival of the patient who'd be sharing the room with him. D'Artagnan had known who it was, him and Porthos had arranged it as a sort of intervention for Athos and only when the nurses wheeled in Aramis did the younger man realize that Athos had already made his escape.

"I think I should step out," Constance got to her feet.

"No please just –"

"I have to go back, my shift starts in an hour," she smiled, "but I'll come see you again,"

"You will?" d'Artagnan couldn't really believe it, "but I'll be getting discharged soon."

He had never thought he'd hate the idea of leaving the hospital, up until her visit he had been begging to get out of there.

Constance rolled her eyes and handed him her phone number.

"Call me then," she said as she patted his hand, "it's good to see you alive d'Artagnan."

He couldn't help but smile even as he watched her leave, oblivious to the small army of nurses settling their patient a few feet away from his bed. He was still staring at the space she had occupied when someone pointedly cleared his throat.

He turned his head at the sound.

"Was that Constance?" Porthos asked.

"Yeah,"

"Porthos my friend you owe me a drink," Aramis spoke up, "My spidey-senses are never wrong."

He sounded a little out of breath and when d'Artagnan got his first look of his friend in days, he couldn't really blame him for it. The man looked as white as the pillows he was reclining against. The eyes that met his were too dark, although the smile was all charm.

"I see the ego is still intact," d'Artagnan rolled his eyes.

"It's the reinforced steel in it," Aramis smirked, "can't have my best feature unprotected."

"See what I've been dealing with?" Porthos shook his head although he grinned.

"Don't go disillusioning him Porthos; he's our number one fan."

"Excuse me?"

"We're you're superheroes, don't you remember that?"

This was not happening; d'Artagnan looked to Porthos who shrugged in a way that almost seemed like an apology. D'Artagnan groaned and flopped back against the raised head of his bed.

"It's coming back isn't it?" Aramis grinned.

"I was under the influence,"

"That still doesn't discount that you think we're awesome," Aramis chuckled, "or that Athos is the awsomiest."

Horrified beyond horror d'Artagnan looked again to Porthos for confirmation. When the big man only chuckled d'Artagnan extracted the pillow from under his head and plopped it on his face. He would never be able to look at Athos in the eyes again. What had the man been thinking all this time? Why hadn't anyone brought this up till now? He had had a vague idea that he had been sprouting nonsense before the ambulances came but had written it off as a dream since no one else had mentioned it.

"Quit harassing the puppy Aramis," Porthos said, "you know he just loooooves us."

D'Artagnan picked up the pillow from his face and threw it at the big man with all the strength he could muster. His friend just laughed as he sat in the chair between the two beds, tucked the pillow behind him and leaned against it with an exaggerated sigh.

"I hate you two," d'Artagnan scowled.

"But not Athos," Porthos shook his head.

"Oh no Athos is the best! Right d'Art?" Aramis said.

"I will murder you while you sleep," d'Artagnan growled but there was no heat behind the words.

It had been four days since the explosion and he hadn't felt this light since. He wished that Athos would get past whatever it was that had been holding him back. He was about to inquire after the man when the soft laughter tapered off and he found the other two staring at the man in the doorway.

Athos looked like someone had dropped him in front of a coming train.

Before either of them could say a word, the man turned around and hurried back the way he had come. Porthos darted after him with quietly uttered curses and when d'Artagnan looked to the other man he found Aramis shaking his head.

"You two didn't tell him," he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Surprise?" d'Artagnan offered.

Aramis snorted and drew a hand through his hair as he leaned back. The younger of the two had no idea why he suddenly felt guilty; him and Porthos had only been trying to help after all.

"Whatever it is that's in his head Athos needs to work it out and he always works it out on his own," Aramis said, "I know you want to help, but just give him the normal alright? Give him that and he'll manage the rest."

"Do you know why he's been avoiding you?"

"I have an idea,"

"What'd you do?"

"I almost died on his watch," Aramis' smile lost a little of its shine; "he doesn't like having to deal with unannounced activities like that."

It didn't make sense to d'Artagnan; if someone he cared for had almost died he'd be watching them like a hawk for the foreseeable future and Athos hadn't been avoiding him, he had been spending every minute he could by his side. D'Artagnan had a feeling he was missing something but looking at his exhausted friend he hadn't the heart to push the matter.

"You said you'd tell me your name," he said instead.

"Trust that nosy brain of yours to remember that,"

"You promised,"

"It's like you're six years old,"

"You said it was there in the database, that I missed it."

"It is there," Aramis shifted until he was a bit more upright, "Couldn't get the job without a real name,"

"I searched for an Aramis,"

"It's Rene," the man stared at his hands in his lap, "Rene d'Herblay the Fourth."

The name was familiar; d'Artagnan bolted straight and stared at his friend, because this man couldn't be from that family. He had read so much about the d'Herblays and none of it was good, some things had made him feel sick.

The d'Herblay Industries was an umbrella for a large number of companies that could financially make the Bourbon Empire seem laughable, but the name was notoriously synonymous with underhand dealings and illegal activities across the world. So many people had brought its dark deeds to the light yet no one had been able to pin it down. The enemies of The d'Herblay Industries were many and they were cleanly taken care of when trouble stirred.

"Not from The d'Herblays of France," he said

"The fourth and only heir," Aramis offered him a short wave and a sheepish smile.

"Oh,"

"Oh indeed," his friend smiled but it was a twisted sharp thing.

There was always so much information, so many allegation and theories available linked to this name but d'Artagnan had never come about anything about the personal lives of the people behind it. It only started with Rene d'Herblay the First and moved on seamlessly. There was no information about family, ceremonies, births or deaths, just one picture of the man currently in charge. It was clearly a very tightly run ship.

But if Aramis had broken out of that he would have enemies on both sides, it dawned on d'Artagnan what his friend had trusted him with. He had so many questions whizzing through his mind but none came forth.

"Thank you," he said.

Aramis looked him in the eye then and d'Artagnan suddenly felt like he was being judged; he was surprised that he wanted to pass whatever this test was.

"You're family," Aramis shrugged.

* * *

He marched up to the hospital room like a man going to war. Porthos had taken d'Artagnan home and made it clear that he would drag Athos, knocked unconscious if he had to, up to Aramis if the man hadn't gone to visit him this afternoon.

With each step Athos could feel his anger rising, he was angry that the Captain's investigation into Rochefort wasn't going anywhere when Athos was sure it was him who had been in contact with Vadim. He was angry at Detective Inspector Leon for informing them first that Gaudet had committed suicide on the way to the police station and then had called to tell them that there was evidence of foul play but they had no leads.

But most of all he was just angry.

Athos' fingers tightened against the Styrofoam cup of lukewarm coffee and he wished that it was the neck of a wine bottle in his grip. He threw the half full cup in the waste basket in the corridor and stalked into the room.

Aramis was awake but he didn't say a word as he watched Athos come to sit in the chair beside his bed.

"Did you know?" Athos asked.

"And hello to you too,"

Athos wasn't in the mood to be sidetracked; if Porthos was so adamant to have him solve his 'problem' then he was going to solve it today.

"Did you know you were bleeding out?" he asked, "Did you keep it to yourself out of some twisted sacrificing hero complex? Was it because of –?"

Aramis' eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Because of what?" he asked.

Athos knew a dare when he saw one, Aramis knew that he was talking about that massacre at his last training assignment; he just wanted to see if Athos would say it out loud.

"Was that some sick form of survivor's guilt?"

Aramis pushed away from the support of the raised head of the bed and swung his feet over to the side. His hands clutched the edge of the mattress in a white knuckled grip as he glared at his friend.

"Get out," it was soft and cold.

"Not before you tell me," Athos was on his feet, "I need to know if you still haven't gotten through that thick skull that your life matters too. If you still haven't understood to not so readily throw it away."

"I was caught in the ripple of an explosion Athos and I had a friend in my arms who was bleeding; excuse me for not remembering if I had hit something or not. I know how much you hate it when you're not in control, how much it shakes you up, hell I even understand that. But don't you dare imply that I'm suicidal."

"But your friends always comes first,"

"My family always comes first," he glowered.

Athos was surprised how steady the glare was considering how heavily his friend was breathing. He drew a hand through his hair and turned away, because quite unintentionally, Aramis' words had revealed to him what the root of his problem was.

He wasn't angry at his friend he was angry at himself. Athos was feeling guilty; he hadn't asked he had assumed that his friend was alright, not realizing that the man would be blind to his own needs until those of his friends' were met. It was the abrupt end of their college lives all over again, when Aramis had been the only one running damage control in the lives of his two best friends.

Athos had been busy drowning his sorrows of Thomas and Anne in a bottle while Porthos had been risking his life in bets to save his lost fortune. They had been so caught up in their own crumbling worlds that it had been over half a year later when they had even realized what had been missing from Aramis' life. And that had only been because they had found him crying over a knitted baby shoe.

Blinking clear the stinging in his eyes, Athos turned back around to find that his friend had settled back on the bed, his eyes pointedly averted in quiet rage.

Now that his own thinking was clearing Athos could see what Porthos had been screaming at him for. Their friend was clearly in pain, it was in the tense lines of his shoulders, in the pinched corners of his smile and in the creases of the bedspread he had been silently clenching. He had always made sure that the pain medications he took were the bare minimum, against medical advice if he had to. Anything that risked locking him in his own subconscious was an enemy in Aramis' eyes.

Athos walked over to the other side of the bed and in his friend's line of sight. He perched on the mattress near Aramis' hip.

"Scoot over," he said.

"Get out,"

"Not happening," Athos toed off his shoes.

It was a pattern he had noticed in retrospect. Ever since his friend had turned into a boarding student he had picked, traded, won and charmed his way to get the bed that had been closest to the wall and had a clear sight of the door. But with his bed in the center of the room and the injury on his left side, it was no wonder Aramis wasn't getting as much sleep as the doctors were hoping.

"Scoot over," Athos swung his legs up and turned on his side.

Aramis rolled his eyes but moved to make space, lying onto his side so that they could be face to face.

"Even if we had known, there wasn't much either of us could have done," he said.

"I know," Athos nodded

He pushed up until he was leaning against the raised bed just high enough to look over Aramis' head. Bracing an elbow against the mattress he rested his head in his hand and looked down into the dark brown eyes that were blown wide and glazed over with pain.

"I'm sorry," he said, "Shouldn't have taken it out on you like that."

Aramis nodded and hummed, eyelids flickering even as the two of them settled. It took all of five minutes for his blinking to give way to even breaths as he dozed off. His forehead slumped forward and came to rest in the hollow of Athos' throat. The hand with the IV needle shifted and clutched at his shirt.

Athos breathed free for the first time since his friend had crumpled in his arms. He rested his chin on the dark hair as he pulled up the covers on his friend and draped an arm over his shoulder. Even as he stretched his other arm sometimes later and wrapped it loosely around the bent head, his eyes never strayed from the door, he couldn't betray the trust Aramis had so easily offered him again.

* * *

 **Thank you everyone who read, favorite and follow this story! And all the amazing people who leave me reviews I just want you to know that your words are read, re-read and obsessed over. THANK YOU for fueling my passion for writing :)**

 **And people who've been reading my other work in progress, I haven't abandoned it. Next chapter will be up soon, its half way done.**


	7. Chapter 7

He could not forget the shine in her eyes and the almost childish excitement as she listened to him talk about his new job. Her enthusiasm was contagious and it made him feel like the luckiest man alive even if the days following his recovery had been dull. There was something about Constance' very presence, something bright and golden, sweet and tangy, that made everything beautiful when she was around him and warmed him like his own personal spot of sunshine every time his thoughts strayed to her.

It was wrong, it was so wrong because she was engaged to be married to that Bonacieux and he couldn't even think of asking her if she would consider him _**that**_ way. And what exactly was _**that**_ way, he wasn't even sure himself; because no, he could not be in love, no, there was no way. You don't fall in love with someone you've only met five times.

"….activity?"

"What?" d'Artagnan frowned at Athos.

"I asked if there was any suspicious activity in his background check," his friend repeated.

It was a good thing that it was raining so hard that Athos could not pull his eyes away from the road; it was clear by his grip on the steering wheel that his friend was not amused at having to repeat himself. In the backseat Porthos and Aramis snickered, a knee dug in the back of d'Artagnan's seat as the unmistakable crunch of a candy wrapper filled the air followed by Porthos' loud, long suffering groan.

D'Artagnan adjusted his new laptop on his knees and squirmed in the tight space. The bright blue car that Captain Treville had ordered them to take was the size of a matchbox and not at all built to survive long drives carrying four men for hours on end, especially when they couldn't even roll down the windows without getting drenched.

"Mrs. Bonnaire already disclosed her husband's penchant for wasting loan money so that explains his rather erratic financial records, he's traveled a lot across Europe, sometimes even to Africa and generally leaves a hefty trail of expenses," d'Artagnan frowned at the items list on the screen, he had generated it before they had left the office, "it seems like he's a either a very social person hosting large parties or a very generous one, because most of his purchases are regular commodities but often in large numbers. I don't know Athos; I wish I had more time to do better."

"I don't like the urgency either," Athos nodded.

Mrs. Bonnaire, the head of a local adoption agency, had been in tears when they had been called in the Captain's office. Her husband was in trouble with a rather nasty loan-shark who was awaiting his return with a death sentence. Maria Bonnaire simply wanted her husband safely retrieved.

They had no time to prepare for the imminent arrival of Emile Bonnaire and it had adversely affected the already sour mood that Athos had been. Ever since their assignment concerning Vadim the atmosphere at their office had been tense at best and hostile at worst. Athos was convinced that Rochefort had been in contact with the now incarcerated hacker but there was no proof and Vadim wasn't talking.

Just that morning Detective Inspector Leon had called to tell them that the case of Gaudet's 'suicide' was now on the back burner so whoever had murdered the man was likely to go free, at least for the time being.

The swish of windshield wipers as they strained against the downpour lulled his mind back to the recent past when he had walked in on Athos and Porthos during their quite discussions. He found it strangely hurtful when they would immediately drop the conversation the second they saw him.

" _Pay attention Charles, you're not paying attention…"_

His father's voice in his head had him staring down at the list again, d'Artagnan scrolled down the screen and scanned the items; dry food items, junk food, a range of alcohols, clothes in all sizes both male and female, hotel fares; it was the same as far as he could find. The young man wished he could find the trail of cash the man had spent; Bonnaire's credit purchases were far below the level of the money he had withdrawn.

The silence was cut by the sniping sound of a tear in a candy wrapper, a crinkling of plastic foil and then a crunch, chomp, chomp, more crinkling, a loud crunch, chomp, chomp; it was starting to get on d'Artagnan's nerves. He had lost count of the chocolate bars Aramis had consumed ever since they had started on this surprise road trip.

Still he was not prepared for the elbow striking his seat.

"Hey give that back!"

"These are hard candies not popcorn!" Porthos held away the black and yellow packet from Aramis, waving it over d'Artagnan's head in the process.

"That's because there was no caramel popcorn," Aramis managed to unstuck his teeth enough to form words and half sprawled on his friend in an effort to reach his lost confectionery.

"Why did you let him buy this stuff Athos?"

"I sent d'Art here to supervise the groceries,"

"Well done pup,"

"I don't need supervision to do groceries," Aramis growled from where his face was pressed against Porthos' other hand.

The car swerved to the side abruptly and d'Artagnan couldn't help the smirk that appeared on his face. It was time for another of Athos' 'executive decisions.' He was not at all surprised when the man plucked the packet of candies from over the younger man's head and threw it in the dashboard.

"Your bag," he demanded from between the front seats.

Porthos gleefully handed over Aramis' bag that their esteemed leader shoved into the already tiny foot-space that was afforded to d'Artagnan.

"Traitor," Aramis scowled at his friend beside him.

But he didn't question Athos, because when Athos was the one driving the car it was a dictatorship. That was why d'Artagnan got to ride up front, it was also the reason they didn't have any music on in the car since the squabbling duo in the back couldn't agree on anything.

The youngest of the group checked the GPS as they started again and realized that they were off course; he hadn't seen exactly when Athos had switched off their helpful technological guide.

"We left the main road quite a few kilometers behind," he said.

"I know,"

"You know that you're lost?'

"Athos never gets lost, he's like a homing pigeon," Aramis spoke up from around the chewy candy he had popped in his mouth.

Porthos cursed vehemently from beside him and began searching the long coat Aramis wore. He was the only one layered up in the stuffy car and d'Artagnan would have assumed that it was only to keep a secret stash of candies if he hadn't come to know how much Aramis hated the cold.

"It's a short cut," Athos explained, "I'm familiar with the area,"

This was a surprise for the youngest of their team and d'Artagnan looked to their leader for more information even when it became abundantly clear that none was forthcoming.

From the corner of his eye he saw Aramis smack away Porthos' hands and the big man shoved him back a little before conceding defeat. D'Artagnan felt oddly guilty for not keeping an eye on the amount of sugary treats Aramis had bought yesterday.

"We used to go to this island sometimes, but it's been years," Porthos explained from the backseat.

His voice bore the finality of closing the subject and it sparked that same frustrating, hurtful feeling of being left out in d'Artagnan. He clenched his teeth to keep from probing further because it was clear in the blatantly forced ignorance in Athos' posture that it was sore topic.

As they drove on in silence, broken only by random crunches, the rain gradually abated and d'Artagnan again went through the information he had hastily gathered.

" _Pay attention Charles, its right under your nose…"_

There was something he was not seeing, something that neither of them was seeing and it left d'Artagnan with a bad feeling about this assignment.

* * *

It had stopped raining by the time they rolled into a nameless settlement along the coast of Thames Estuary; it consisted of just a handful of small vacation homes that Athos knew by experience would likely be empty this time of the year. The side-road they had taken came to an end outside of a boathouse, meeting the wooden pier edge for edge. A weather beaten motor boat was docked there; bobbing gently over the choppy waves that the wind pulled over the water.

The four of them exited the car, involuntarily stretching in the chilly wind before tucking their arms closer. The overcast afternoon merged everything around them in a grayscale canvas but Athos' memories were vivid.

How many times had the three of them hopped out on this very gravel, eager to leave the world behind and ride off into a pocket of universe that was just for them? He could see Porthos ducking and dodging Aramis' wild gestures and his carelessly swinging fishing equipment while the two argued on the pier, he could smell the engine oil on his fingers as he tinkered with the boat engine for last minute adjustments while his friends loaded up, he could hear Aramis' sugar charged chatter topped with Porthos' threats of shoving him overboard.

And then he had brought her. Once with his friends and then later when it was just the two of them, time and time again in the short span of their marriage. Anne had thoroughly enjoyed the one luxury he had worked hard to maintain after he was disinherited by his family and he had lived at that time to see that woman smile just one more time.

Just the thought of her had him recoiling, that horrible ache that was the scar of their love now overshadowed any happy memory he had of this place. Athos wished he had not taken this assignment, he had enough paranoia with the threat of d'Herblay Senior coming out of the woodworks; he didn't need her ghost haunting him even more than usual.

The creaking sound of a door opening pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Porthos? What're you doing here?" the man frowned from behind mesh of the screen door.

"We needed a ride," Athos stepped up to the doorway.

The man in the boathouse stumbled out at the sight of him. The sallow face pulled in a grimace and the narrow eyes squinted at him with something more than surprise.

"Athos? How –" the man shook his head, " ' _ **The Fere'**_ is on the island,"

"I'm not here for that," Athos clarified, "but we needed a ride,"

"The weather ain't right to go out,"

Aramis grinned as he threw an arm across the man's narrow shoulders and offered him the small bag of candies he had been devouring.

"You don't have to go out; we just need to commandeer that boat of yours," he said.

The man balked and squirmed out of his hold.

"No, no, you're not taking it."

"Come on Remi, I only crashed it that one time,"

"That was one time too many,"

"But I paid for the damage and the new pier,"

"He won't be the one at the helm," Athos assured the man, "but we are pressed for time, so if you wouldn't mind."

Remi looked from one man to the other before his scowl deepened. Cursing vehemently under his breath, he disappeared back into the boathouse before coming out with the fuel containers. He swung them back the second Aramis reached for them.

"No, you prep it," he said to Athos.

"Aramis get the supplies from the car," Athos told his friend.

"You crash a man's boat one time and suddenly you're not trustworthy," Aramis rolled his eyes managing to sound petulant and delighted at the same time.

"d'Artagnan?" Athos turned to their youngest, "Keep an eye on him,"

The answering grin was enough for Athos to fortify himself for the task ahead. The actions were familiar, old patterns of learned sequences met him like a parted friend. Between him and Porthos they were ready in a matter of minutes and were soon out onto the restless waters with Remi at the controls.

The strip of sand, marked by a green line of trees further in, became visible half an hour later. He glanced towards Porthos at his side and the understanding in those dark eyes floored him. Athos didn't feel like he deserved it, he had taken something that was solely for the three of them and tainted it with pain of his misjudgments.

Porthos stepped up and closer to him, the roar of the engine and the wind in their faces didn't allow for much conversation but the message was clearly spoken in silence and gratefully received; whatever Athos was going to face in this piece of his past he would not be alone.

They docked at the tiny empty wharf that had seen better days and unloaded onto the gray-brown beach. Since Remi was insistent on returning quickly to the main land Athos checked the time and told him to come back for them two hours later. Emile Bonnaire would be arriving in somewhere between the next hour and if things went smoothly they may be able to get back to the office sometimes around midnight.

"Is it just me or was he bit too odd than normal," Aramis slung his bag over his shoulder as he bent to grab his rifle case.

"Seemed twitchy," Porthos nodded.

"He is coming back for us right?" d'Artagnan watched the motorboat disappear.

"Afraid to be stranded on the island with us?" Porthos asked.

"Should I be?"

"We do have some supplies but when we run short of food I promise to shoot you dead before we have you for dinner." Aramis grinned.

"Ha ha," d'Artagnan rolled his eyes as he set up their communication links, "how do you know this place anyway?"

"It was our escape when we were younger," Porthos shrugged.

His eyes darted to Aramis and they both glanced towards Athos, the apology in their skittering gazes was unfounded Athos decided. They shouldn't lock away the fun they had had in this place just because it was darkened for him.

"Escape from Aramis here to be precise," he found himself smiling, "We tried to go fishing one weekend and found ourselves trapped on the water with this 6"ft ferret we had imagined to be our friend."

"I was just bored," Aramis defended.

"It was a nightmare," Porthos grinned, "he was into this one minute and that another, and worst of all were the questions."

"He tried to whistle at the fish to call them out and when that didn't work there was the signing," Athos said and didn't even try to dodge Aramis' punch to his shoulder.

Porthos shuddered as he put in his earpiece, "I was gonna push him out into the water."

"So I suggested we camped out on this eyot we were near," Athos added.

"There is only so much one can do while waiting for the fish to get hungry," Aramis shrugged.

Athos raised a brow; this was one of the best snipers in all the units the three of them had ever come across, it always baffled him that the sharpshooter lacked patience for the simple act of fishing when he had to keep his post days on end while waiting for the enemy.

"Never really understood the charm for fishing," d'Artagnan shrugged.

Aramis beamed and Porthos groaned at the high-five the younger of their group shared. Athos shook his head as a fond smile threatened to break out on his face. Maybe this case wouldn't turn out so bad after all he thought.

* * *

The cloud cover was reducing his visibility even if he could still see his friends and the wharf clearly. The leaves around him rustled, sprinkling water from the previous shower, but it was the wind that had picked up speed that foretold of the coming rain. It was colder and heavier.

He adjusted his rifle accordingly; set up in the branches of a tree as he was made readjustments a tricky business, although not impossible; he had had to make do with worse conditions. Aramis shivered, he had dumped his long black coat with his bags at the foot of a tree further inland, he needed to be able to move without restriction but he'd be lying if he assured himself that he didn't miss the warmth it offered. It wasn't always like that; he had roamed this very shoreline in nothing but his khakis and an old t-shirt in a weather such as this.

He leaned forwards and scanned the water through his scope, half a smile curling up the corner of his lips. He opened the communication link.

"We have incoming," he said.

"How many?" Athos asked.

"Two men,"

"Armed?"

Aramis zeroed in on the pair standing on the deck of the motorboat, he couldn't see any weapons but then his view was blocked by the ship's helm.

"Unconfirmed," he said.

"I see them," Porthos was standing out on the wharf, a solid presence on the old planks. He raised his binoculars again, "seems like one of them is Bonnaire,"

Aramis remained unmoving in his position, the approaching boat still in focus even as he kept an eye on his friends. Athos was still on the shore, calm, collected, in a deceptively bored posture. He cast a glance to their youngest and chuckled softly.

"Watch where you're going pup; I know it's hard to resist the temptation but playing in the water could cost you those puppy toes," he said.

D'Artagnan grumbled something that sounded distinctly like 'bird-brain' and stepped back from the dark line of wet sand he was standing on. Before Aramis could say anything further he noticed another boat, nearly flying over the rolling water as it came their way.

"We have company," he announced, "Porthos?"

"Yeah, I see them," he said, "they're armed Athos,"

"It's Paul Meunier," Aramis identified the loan-shark from the picture they had pulled up according to the information Mrs. Bonnaire's had provided them.

He watched as the first boat came to a stop and Athos joined Porthos out on the pier. They never got the chance to introduce themselves as the second boat roared near, the small group of men armed and focused onto the two on the wharf.

"Emile my friend I see you have a welcoming party," the stout man in the second boat made his way through the armed men, "You didn't tell us there were others, I'm hurt."

"We got here first Meunier," Porthos said.

"I think my advantageous position overrules whatever that notion implies," the man nodded towards his armed guards.

"Maybe your position isn't as advantageous as you believe," Athos voice had just enough arrogance, "My men behind us have a clear line of sight and are a signal away from raining fire."

Aramis refrained from rolling his eyes, some days the faith his friends had in his abilities would not be enough, but not today. He smiled to himself as he unhooked his back-up weapon to place it in easy reach and readied the extra ammunition for a quick reload.

He kept an ear out even as he watched Athos for the go ahead. It happened in a flash, Meunier called the bluff and Athos' head tilted just so.

Aramis fired, slide, click, shift angle, fire; reload again, shift angle again, fire.

He reloaded and watched the pier. In the seconds it had taken for him to hit the helm, bow and stern of Meunier's boat, Porthos had pulled Emile Bonnaire onto the wharf while the man's partner had turned tail and was halfway out to the sea.

When the flurry from the surprise attack quieted, Meunier signaled for his men to stand down and regarded Athos.

"What do you want from him anyway? Did you order a cargo that expired in his last shipment?" he inquired.

"That is none of your business Mr. Meunier, all you need to know is that we are here for Emile Bonnaire and we will be taking him," Athos replied smoothly.

But Aramis didn't miss the sharp inhale from d'Artagnan, their youngest was still back on the shoreline and he was cursing up a blue streak under his breath.

"What is it d'Art?" Aramis didn't need the noise if he wanted to catch what Meunier was saying.

"I should have seen it," d'Artagnan growled, "I think we're on the wrong side this time,"

"Explain,"

"I think Emile Bonnaire may be into human trafficking."

The silence that followed d'Artagnan's quite announcement was only broken by Athos' smooth tones belying none of the information that had been passed to his ears.

"How about this then, we get to deal first with Mr. Bonnaire but you have my word we won't be killing him off." Athos said, "He is your investment and we understand that to deprive you of the returns would be unfair."

"How do I know I can trust you?" Mr. Meunier asked.

"You don't really have a choice,"

To the surprise of everyone the man laughed. He chuckled and motioned for his men to stand down. Taking a few steps to get closer to the wharf, the short stout man handed over a business card to Athos.

"Once you're done with him, call me on this number," he said.

Athos took the peace offering with a nod and they watched in silence as Paul Meunier ordered his men to return to the main land. Aramis waited until he was sure that the man wasn't going to turn back before he dropped down from his position.

"I'll need those details now," Athos said as he marched over to d'Artagnan.

"It's so obvious," d'Artagnan began, "the pattern is there see…"

As the boy opened his laptop to show Athos his findings, Aramis took off his earpiece and unclipped the microphone. As he made his way to the shore line he saw Porthos doing the same, the big man was still on the wharf and was pulling along the silent Bonnaire after him.

Aramis caught it at the last second, the dark object in Emile Bonnaire's palm. Even as he yelled a warning he saw the man press something to Porthos back. Aramis was running even as Porthos stood abruptly rigid, his face twisted in shock and pain, before the big man toppled sideways and into the water.

"No, please, no, Porthos," he was past his rushing friends, past Bonnaire and diving off the wooden pier into the dark cold water below.

* * *

Sharp seizing pain cut him through like an axe between his shoulders, it lanced down his spine in a single piercing ache and spread out like a bursting root. Sore muscles locked and held. Porthos shuddered; someone screamed his name but he couldn't turn his head, he couldn't move and he fell to his side, the fall never ending…

… _.he doesn't remember how he got here. The last coherent image in his mind is of Aramis' message on the mobile screen, asking him to come back directly to the flat after his class that morning. And then Porthos is just here; and the kicks and the punches raining on him are getting drowned out by the cold sticky darkness flooding over him…_

…He felt the grip tugging at him; hands clutched under his arms and jerked him back, pulled him up. But the cold was heavy, it was freezing enough to numb his mind and squash any remaining shred of control that he had. Porthos breathed and he inhaled fire….

… _.they start as seven men but now there are only three. There is fire in Porthos' chest and his throat is parched, he licks his cracked lips and tastes the metal tang of blood. He doesn't see when or how the assault ends but he is very much aware of the gentle hands guiding him down to lie on his back; hands that are as familiar as his own._

" _I thought the Court didn't open in the mornings,"_

" _The Court of Miracles can open whenever it wants wherever it wants," it's not the loud declaration he wants it to be but more of a hoarse whisper._

 _There are hands roaming down the side of his chest and he groans when they hit a sore spot._

" _How much was the bet this time?"_

" _No bets," he says and grins in the silence that follows…_

…the silence was the loudest rush in his ears; the world had dropped away in a monotonous buzz of the quiet and he felt like a feather on the breeze. Distant gasping, splashing pleads cracked through his floating calm.

"Damn it Porthos! Please just don't – Porthos!"

He could not make out the words but he knew the voice, even in the darkness and the static quite engulfing him he could easily put a face on it…

… _only one of his eyes is open but it is enough, he can see the red trickle on Aramis' chin and trace it back to the busted lip._

" _You're gonna scare Isabelle, 'tis not good for the baby."_

 _Aramis' eyes widen and Porthos isn't sure if it's his faulty vision or his friend's eyes are suddenly glazed over with a wet shine; they blink rapidly and turn away. His friend swipes a hurried sleeve over his face and turns back to look at him._

" _I told you she – never mind, you were probably concussed then. Wait, you might have a concussion this time too."_

 _Porthos curses when the penlight flashes in his eyes. Aramis lets him be once he's satisfied and reaches again for his bag. Something cold plops on the side of Porthos' face and he is so distracted by the sheer relief of it that he starts when his friend picks up his hand for a closer look. Porthos' knuckles are bloody and torn; he frowns when he notices so are Aramis'…_

There was an elephant on his chest, an elephant fond of hoping. As soon as the thought registered Porthos inhaled, it set of the liquid fire in his chest that poured out of him in retches and coughs, burning everything in its path like acid.

His eyes stung, his ears popped and the last thing he heard was his friend telling him to breathe.

"Just breathe, that's it Porthos let it out, just breathe,"

* * *

 **THANK YOU everyone who read, follow and favorite this story. People who left me reviews, you are just awesome! 51 reviews! I'm overwhelmed and get nearly giddy every time I read your words, you'd be surprised how often that is, so THANK YOU for brightening my life.**


	8. Chapter 8

The dive was textbook perfect; sleek, smooth and deep; it was the icy hit of the water that shocked him. For a second he could feel the crunch of snow under his feet, could see the arched red splashes on white; but the worry for his friend was enough to cut through his memory.

Aramis searched the dark waters for Porthos, hoping and fearing that he wasn't too late. The pull of the current underwater was far stronger than the restless surface had betrayed and he desperately searched the murky depths for any sign of his friend.

It was the glimmer of Porthos' earring, sinking like a lost hope that pushed a new surge of adrenalin in Aramis' numbing veins. He dove deeper, reached out and wrapped a hold on Porthos' collar, getting dragged down a little further into the darkness himself.

Aramis re-adjusted his grip on his friend and began swimming for the surface. He nearly lost his hold when Porthos wriggled. It was the only warning he had before the bubbles frothed around Porthos' face.

Aramis nearly gasped in horror himself.

The weight in his arms grew eerily light and Aramis felt a stab in his chest that had nothing to do with his dwindling oxygen. He strained against the heavy cold, the cloying darkness and the utter fear of losing his best friend that threatened to sink him all on its own.

He broke the surface with a gasp, the cold air cutting into his starved lungs like shards of glass. Aramis hitched Porthos a little higher and when the limp head lolled onto his shoulder he held his friend just a little tighter. Numb fingers dug fiercely into the big man's shirt and Aramis dared anything to try to sweep his brother away from him.

He pressed a shaky hand onto Porthos' neck and felt the man slip down before he could decipher a pulse.

"Damn it Porthos! Please just don't –" his head dipped under and Aramis swallowed water even as he gathered his friend closer, "Porthos!"

There was no way he could be certain if his friend was alive, his own hands were shaking too much. Aramis scanned the water and realized they were further from the shore than he had thought, not that far, but far enough. He hadn't the time to wonder how that had happened; Porthos didn't have that much time.

With that in mind Aramis began swimming for the shoreline.

His chest burned, his water logged clothes threatened to drag him down and after a while he wasn't sure if his legs were complying with his orders to move. Aramis could not feel his fingers and his tired mind panicked when he felt Porthos slipping again.

Blue tinged fingers coiled tightly in Porthos' shirt.

The pliant stillness of his larger than life friend made him choke back a sob.

Aramis pulled him close again and pressed his lips to the wet curls flattened against Porthos' scalp. Tears prickled his gaze at the lack of response and he pulled in a steadying breath through chattering teeth. He dragged his friend closer still and spoke into his ear.

"Now you listen to me you big fool," Aramis' hoarse voice wasn't above a whisper and broken with stuttering gasps, "You don't get to leave us behind – I'm not letting you go – If you drown today, I'm going down with you. – You hear me? You're not going down alone. – You go and I'll follow."

It was one of the unspoken truths of their lives; the three of them could be self-sacrificing idiots a thousand times over but they would fight death itself for each other. With that assurance pushing him forwards, Aramis swam for the island.

So focused was he on his task that he didn't even register the helping hands that came. He jerked violently, an animalist snarl tearing from him as he gripped Porthos nearer.

"Easy Aramis; let us help,"

"Athos?"

"Yes,"

"What're you doing here?"

Aramis frowned at his friend who was standing in the middle of the sea. A still lucid part of him knew that wasn't possible. It was a trick of the cold, Athos couldn't be standing in the sea and neither could d'Artagnan.

"d'Artagnan? Oh!" Aramis suddenly found himself pulled to his feet by the younger man.

He was on the ground, blessed not-so-solid ground. Aramis would have wept for joy if it wasn't for the quite weight of Porthos in his arms. He glanced down at the slack face that had taken a sickly hue and began dragging his friend out of the water.

* * *

The two of them had waded into the water until it was splashing past their waists. Athos wisely refrained from pulling Porthos from Aramis' hold after the initial growled warning. Instead he helped him drag their friend ashore.

Porthos was a ragged doll between them, limp and still.

Athos eased him to lie on his back and bit his lip at the sight that greeted him. The grey tinged skin and the bluish lips foretold of a future he would not allow, a future he could not allow.

Athos pressed his fingers against his friend's neck, pressing harder when there was no reassuring beat.

"Don't you bloody dare," he warned and leaned forwards to check his friend's breathing; feeling none forthcoming.

Cold fear settled in his chest as he glanced sideways at Aramis, who fell to his knees beside him. The medic in him clearly taking over as he settled his hands high on Porthos' sternum; locked his elbows and began compressions.

Athos didn't need to be asked, he was ready after the rapid thirty compressions and quickly tilted Porthos' head back with one hand, pinched his nose and lifted his chin to clear the airway before blowing two breaths into his friend.

It broke something in him when Porthos remained still; no teasing, no mock disgust, no feigned horror.

Aramis didn't wait though, he went back onto the chest compressions, curses and prayers falling in a mangled jumble of four languages. Broken words from English, French, Spanish and even Latin ran into pleas and threats alike even when he stopped and Athos breathed again for their friend.

Athos pulled back and blinked away the tears.

"Please, please, please," he mumbled.

Aramis started the third cycle when Porthos jerked. He pulled in a sharp breath and let out a wet, gurgling cough.

Athos immediately turned him onto his side as his hand on Porthos' forehead slid into the man's wet curls. He rubbed the quivering back as Porthos breathed and coughed and gasped. Athos couldn't look away from the man as he brought up the water from his lungs until his breathing tapered to something that resembled normal.

"Just breathe, that's it Porthos let it out, just breathe," Athos looked up at Aramis.

His other friend was sitting up against d'Artagnan and both sets of eyes reflected his own relief at the beautiful sound of wet breathing. He looked back down at his prone friend who seemed to have passed out again, soft shivers coursing through the limp form.

Athos decided he could do with a drink or two just about now.

He suppressed a shudder of his own, the chilly wind cutting through his clothes and skin. They needed to get out of the cold; there was no point of saving Porthos from drowning only to lose him to hypothermia.

There was a place that could shelter them, a place nearby that Athos desperately didn't want to revisit. If this island dredged up the ghosts of his past then that place was the cemetery they stemmed from. As though to hurry up his decision a loud rumble in the sky announced the start of heavy downpour.

" 'Mis?"

It was barely above a murmur but their friend in question was scrambling to respond. Athos watched Aramis hurry forward on his knees, slipping and sliding in the wet sand. He pulled himself closer until he was in Porthos' line of sight and then Athos helped him settle Porthos partway into his lap.

"Cold," Porthos muttered, pressing the side of his face in his friend's leg.

"Shouldn't have – gone for – a swim then," Aramis grinned even as he huffed against the shivers and wiped Porthos' hair away from his face.

The bleary eyed stare seemed far away and Athos had a feeling that the big man wasn't completely with them still. He squeezed the back of Porthos neck.

"We'll get you sorted," he said.

Dazed dark eyes slid towards him but fell away. Porthos groaned as the shivers gave way to harsh shaking and Aramis tried to rub some warmth back into his arms.

"Porthos?" d'Artagnan sounded unfairly small.

His wide rounded eyes darted from one face to the other before settling on Athos. Drenched and shivering he looked every bit a lost miserable puppy and Athos offered him a warm smile.

"He'll be fine," he said, "go collect our stuff and we'll get out of this rain."

As he watched their youngest make a quick work of recovering their belongings he could feel Aramis' eyes burning into the side of his head. He turned to his friend, prepared to meet his surprise only to stop short in wonder himself.

Aramis wasn't looking at him like he hadn't expected this decision of him, but his gaze was softened in gratitude and understanding, he knew how much it pained Athos to make this decision and he also knew that the man would make it, for them, for his brothers.

A loud groan broke the white noise of falling rain and Athos turned to Bonnaire, he had completely forgotten about the man after knocking him out. So he pushed to his feet and met d'Artagnan halfway, taking the pair of backpacks and rifle case from him. He motioned for the younger man to go and help Aramis in getting Porthos on his feet. With all four of them trembling in the cold, it would be a challenge to get their small party moving.

As Aramis and d'Artagnan heaved a dazed Porthos into standing and pulled his arms across their shoulders, Athos loaded his firearm. As his friends came to stand beside him he pointed his weapon at Bonnaire.

"Get up," he ordered.

The man pushed to his knees and his thin mustache twitched as his eyes darted over the expanse beyond. Athos' jaw clenched, this man could have cost them Porthos' life, because of this man Athos may have lost both his brothers.

The crack of gunshot followed a high pitched scream as Bonnaire hurried to his feet and forward, as far away as he could from the bullet that had drilled a hole in the ground by his knee.

"Better," Athos nodded, his voice smooth and cordial, "give me another shadow of an excuse and the next one will be going through your kneecap Mr. Bonnaire."

The man nodded, hands raised above his head. He hurried to take his place at the front as Athos motioned him to and the small group began making their way over to the northern shoreline of the island.

With the rain beating down on them, the ground sucking down each exhausted step they took, the otherwise short distance stretched into an icy haze.

They were still halfway away when d'Artagnan grunted and Aramis stumbled; Porthos, who had been staggering along between the two of them had sagged. His chin dropped to his chest and his knees buckled.

"Is he –?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Unconscious," Athos told him.

His worry mounted when neither quip nor any question was came from Aramis. The man had simply adjusted his hold on his friend and was doggedly staring ahead with glazed over eyes. Athos caught the anxious look d'Artagnan sent his way but shook his head at the silent request; he could not relieve Aramis of his position because he knew that was all that was keeping the man from giving in.

It was with a mixture of relief and loathing that Athos approached the sturdy shed they had finally reached. It was built on a raised platform high on the shore and half over the rising water, with a small door opening on land and a set of larger ones at the back to access the river.

Wishing for some liquid courage Athos forced himself to move forwards, this was where rested The Fere.

It took several tries for Athos to kick open the locked front door and they filed in after him into the wooden shelter, every one of them glad to be out of the wind and the rain.

"Is that a –? That's yours." d'Artagnan blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light from the wide windows cut into the sides of the hut.

As the rain beat against the glass of the windows he stared a bit dumbfounded at the pocket yacht docked in the confines of the shed. It was modestly built, but looked comfortable nonetheless. Despite its obvious isolation it was clearly well looked after with its name painted in black in an elegant cursive text gleaming on its smooth white side.

Athos simply nodded as he wiped his face on his drenched sleeve and made his way on deck. He tried not think about the familiar feel of the sturdy boat, to ignore the vague image of a woman in a pale blue windswept dress forming at the corner of his vision that he feared would solidify should he focused on it.

He dutifully kept his eyes from straying to the control room and it was not just to avoid the siren call of the bottles of wine he had stored there. He didn't want to see the young couple his mind conjured in there, the wild curls of a dark haired woman cascading down the shoulder of the young man against whom she leaned, a spark in her eyes and a wicked smile on her lips as she spoke in his ear.

"Athos?" their youngest was frowning.

"We'll find some supplies in the cabin," Athos reined in his thoughts and helped his friends to get Porthos onboard.

Athos was the last to enter the wood paneled cabin and he froze where he stood at the door. It was the lingering scent of forget-me-nots reaching out to greet him like her slender arms open in welcome, her head tilted to the side and a soft smile on her face.

A loud, wet cough broke through the mirage and Athos shook himself out of the stupor. Seated in the only chair in the cabin, Porthos was coughing and groaning as he slowly came around.

"There will be towels in the cabinet under the bed." Athos told d'Artagnan who hurried down towards the stern without a question.

Bonnaire pressed himself against the wall to keep out of their way as d'Artagnan returned with an armload of towels and blankets. Athos hadn't expected that many, he had certainly not expected them to smell as fresh as they did. He made a mental note to ask Remi if he had been renting out the yacht behind his back as he dropped a towel on Porthos' head.

Aramis began drying the man's hair while Athos took to get him divested of his clothes. The jacket was easy, so were the boots, he handed each item to d'Artagnan who went about setting them in the small washroom to dry. Athos was on his knees and trying with little success to undo the buttons of Porthos' shirt when the dark eyes opened at half-mast and settled on him.

"Porthos?" Athos tried for a sign of recognition.

The tired gaze slid over his and away, it roamed over their surroundings before coming back to meet the blue eyes.

" 'thos?"

"Right here my friend,"

"I talked with 'er las' night," Porthos squeezed his eyes shut, "I did'n know 'thos, she jus' w'nt to sleep –"

It dropped like a rusting anchor to the pit of his stomach, jaggedly cutting his breathing as bile rose to his throat. Athos knew who his friend was talking about and he was far too sober to face this at the moment. He glanced up to see that Aramis had paused as well.

"Mum?" Porthos asked.

Athos sucked in a sharp breath and reached out to grasp the back of his friend's neck. He gave it a gentle squeeze.

"She isn't here Porthos, but we are."

"Huh?" Porthos eyes blinked slowly.

The grief on that face was as raw as it had been years ago. Porthos had been in daze of pain medication and quite well into shock when they had met him at the hospital that morning.

Athos pulled his friend close when the man's composure broke; he was nowhere near strong enough to support the full weight of Porthos who had slumped down to his knees as well, falling completely into Athos' arms ; but just like that day Athos wasn't alone, Aramis was there.

Drenched as he was the man still held onto to both his friends, an arm around each one as the three of them found their shore again…..

… _..He had spent the night purging himself of wine from his latest binge; somewhere along his heaving and groaning and pounding headache Aramis' presence had been a constant. The proof of that were the times when he was throwing up the Gatorade he didn't remember wanting to drink._

 _The ringing of Aramis' mobile phone is a stab of a jagged knife in his brain._

" _I hope you had a better night then us," Aramis says by the way of greeting._

 _Sitting beside him on the tiled floor of the bathroom his friend sounds tired._

 _Athos blinks against his bleary view and contemplates his route to his bedroom for the bottle of wine in his drawer._

" _Porthos, alright, no mon frère please don't panic,_ _querido hermano mío_ _we're on our way," Aramis is pulling him up even as he speaks._

 _Athos remembers something about their mutual friend getting into a terrible fight last morning. Aramis had sent him to his mum's to get his head straightened out. Athos doesn't want his head straightened out, but if he's been dragged along into an outnumbered fight it might not be so bad._

 _Maybe Anne had the right idea all along he frowns to himself, but then his mind roams back to the bottle of wine in his drawer. The sour taste in his dry mouth aches for another mouthful._

" _We have to go Athos, we have to –" Aramis is handing him another bottle of water and thrusting his shoes in his arms, "Porthos is alone there, we have to –"_

 _Athos jerks himself free of the hold._

" _I need another drink," he says._

 _He is beyond surprised to find himself shoved against the wall and of the flint like gleam in the dark eyes narrowed at him._

" _No you don't," Aramis snaps at him._

 _Athos' glares in defiance and his friend eases off, one hand still on Athos shoulder as the other swipes through his own hair._

" _You don't Athos," he repeats, "and we have to go, it's Mrs. Du Vallon and Porthos is alone at the hospital."_

 _Athos doesn't protest and when he sees his friend, their strong, solid Porthos crumple in Aramis' arms he knows he has made the right decision…_

…It was the shivering that had set in them that finally broke them apart. Aramis sneezed into the towel he held and made a sour face at the now useless piece of cloth; it set Porthos chuckling. Athos rolled his eyes and helped the big man settle back on the chair.

"Look, I don't remember you from anywhere, what is it that you want from me?" Emile Bonnaire found his voice as the three of them helped Porthos down to his underclothes and wrapped him up in a couple of blankets.

"Your wife sent us," Athos told the man.

"Oh good, so we're on the same side yes?"

"We're not on the same side," d'Artagnan shoved the man into the chair Porthos had vacated.

Athos and Aramis helped their friend onto the bed under the stern and piled the blanket from the bed on top of him.

"I hope this doesn't bode any hard feelings," Bonnaire nodded towards Porthos, "I keep that Taser for self defense only and I was scared you know, what with Meunier chasing after me and then that big brute lugging me after him –"

Athos turned just in time to see Bonnaire's face snap back with the force of the hit, he was unconscious before he hit the cabin floor. D'Artagnan was still fuming quietly from where he stood over the man.

"What?" their youngest turned to face the two men staring at him and shrugged, "couldn't let him talk about Porthos like that."

Athos couldn't help the proud smile that broke on his face.

"Have some candy," Aramis grinned as he shoved the packet in the boy's hands before pulling out a shaky handful, "Porthos get up! You need to eat this!"

"I think he's finally lost it," d'Artagnan looked to Athos.

"He never fully had it," Athos shrugged.

"Sugar," Aramis paid them no mind as he pulled his friend into a sitting position only to have Porthos slump down the bed and land in a pile of blankets on the floor, "Sugar means energy, energy means shivering, shivering means heat, metabolism means heat –"

"Just eat a few before he slips into another language," Athos told their youngest.

"And then strip," Aramis tossed over his shoulder from the cabin floor where he and Porthos were laboriously trying to unwrap candies with trembling fingers.

"Athos?" their pup had transformed into a fawn in front of a truck.

"Upon my honour d'Artagnan, we won't besmirch your virtue," he said dryly and tossed the boy a towel.

He took some candies from d'Artagnan as he passed the younger man on his way to tie up Bonnaire. The cabin was snug; the blankets were luckily enough to go around but Athos wished he could help things along with another source of heat. With that in mind he went to check if the pair of small stoves would work but instead he found a propane heater attached to a small tank in the cabinet under the stove. He was sure he had never bought one.

" _Your toes are freezing Anne!"_

" _I told you, you need a portable heater for this cabin,"_

" _I don't think so, not when I can keep you warm…."_

Athos shook the memory away, he would need to speak to Remi when this was over but he couldn't not be thankful for his finding. He decided that once they had thawed enough he would search the place for fuel and make for the main land the second the rain slowed. By the sound of Porthos' coughing they couldn't wait for Remi to get back to them.

By the time he had set up the small heat source in the centre of the cabin floor as near to Porthos as he could, d'Artagnan had dried off too. He was huddled under a blanket as he leaned against the big man who was looking better by the minute, if a bit worse for wear.

Aramis was sitting hunched before his friends frowning at the raspy quality of Porthos' breathing.

Athos tapped him on the shoulder.

"Your turn," he said.

His friend nodded as he got to his feet and dutifully moved towards the little washroom with a towel and a blanket in tow. Athos set about draping their wet clothes over any reasonable surface he could find; they really couldn't go back to the office wrapped in blankets.

He was keeping an ear out, should any of his friends' needed help, but it was the vacant silence from the washroom that alerted him of a problem. Trying not to garner the attention of the other two he glanced at the closed door and gently tapped on it.

Silence was his only reply.

He stole a look at Porthos who was pretty much melded into d'Artagnan's side and not yet aware of any possible trouble for their friend. Athos nodded to d'Artagnan to keep it that way as he gave the bathroom door a soft nudge, not surprised to find it unlocked.

"Aramis?"

He stepped inside to find the man standing in front of the small sink, eyes distant and fixed on the wall; his only movements were his fingers absently tracing the side of his head.

Athos knew of the hardly visible scar on that side of his forehead that ended just inside his hairline. He also knew of the much vivid scar near his friend's collarbone that was of the same age as this one but had been the one that had nearly claimed his life.

He moved to stand before Aramis and quietly grasped the fingers tracing the old wound. Gently pulling them away, he rested his own palm onto the barely visible scar. It was clear to him that the cold and fear had led his friend back to the snow covered clearing stained red with murdered comrades. So Athos waited for the man to make his way back and hoped that his touch would guide him in some way.

It took few minutes before Aramis blinked, once, twice and then focused onto his friend.

"It was too close," he murmured finally and leaned into the warmth Athos' hand offered, "too close."

The bare solemnity of it sent a shiver down Athos' spine.

"We got him back," he said, not quite sure who he was trying to convince.

"This time," there was so much exhaustion in those words that Athos wondered for a second of all those times when this man had pulled both his friends back from self-destruction.

Not for the first time Athos wished he hadn't taken this accursed assignment, if nothing else than to give his friend a bit more time to heal. The dark smudges from his previous injury, that had just begun to vanish from under Aramis eyes, had made a reappearance with the weariness that was pouring off him.

"He was dead, for a minute there, he was gone,"

Aramis' shaky voice had a hollow ring to it and Athos hummed noncommittally; he let his hand slide into the damp hair as his friend's head dropped at the declaration.

"But he's here Aramis, just outside," Athos ruffled his hair, "now you need to get dried quickly, I'm still waiting my turn."

Aramis huffed a laugh and gave him a playful shove out of the door. Fifteen minutes later the four of them were huddled around the small heater, immensely grateful to be out of the howling wind and the harsh rain beating onto the roof of the shed.

* * *

His clothes were damp, much drier than he could have hoped for but still cold and a bit clingy. He wriggled his toes in his squelchy boots and tried to ignore the distinct stale smell of river water that hung about him. Instead he focused on Athos at the controls. The air around them was still heavy, the overcast sky was still dark but at least the rain had stopped.

Athos had found two fuel canisters in the shed and they had set out for the main land the second they were ready. Suppressing a shiver, d'Artagnan ducked his head against the wind that carried the sound of Porthos coughing in the cabin below.

Bonnaire was a shivering presence on deck and d'Artagnan was charged to keep an eye on him. But his mind was still with his friends below deck. Porthos had gone from freezing cold to burning up in matter of half an hour and Aramis was intent to brave the waters in the storm if the rain didn't abate. It was just a stroke of luck that the downpour had slowed soon after the man's insistence to get Porthos some medical attention.

They made good time across the water and were soon docking at the pier outside of Remi's boathouse. While d'Artagnan and Aramis helped Porthos in their car Athos went to check on the man who was supposed to come for them at the island.

" 'm fine, stop fussin' Mis," Porthos grumbled when Aramis pressed a hand onto his forehead.

"Forgive me for not believing that my friend," Aramis shook his head, "a brain that's frying isn't sound of judgment."

Porthos' retort was drowned by the coughing that broke out and left the big man doubled over in an effort to pull in a breath. As Aramis helped Porthos through the bout d'Artagnan glanced towards the boathouse.

"I'll go and see what's keeping Athos," he said.

He crossed the short distance, passed the screen door creaking on its hinges and scanned the room that was packed with fishing supplies. Snacks and souvenirs were mounted on shelves and spying the window of a small office at the back d'Artagnan quickly moved through the aisle, calling Athos name as he went.

The door to the office was open and his friend was standing with his back towards it.

"We have to leave Athos, Porthos doesn't sound good," he said.

His friend turned at his declaration and d'Artagnan's eyes widened at the sight that Athos had been staring at. Behind a cluttered desk, in a chair pushed back against the wall was Remi; his chin resting on his chest and a dark stain covering the front of his shirt.

Bile churned up from his stomach and d'Artagnan turned away hastily. The life that he had lived was hardly sheltered, he had been no stranger to violence even before he had taken up this job but he had never come across such callous brutality.

He didn't realize that he had made his way out and was clearly dry heaving until he felt Athos hand on his back. He silently took the water bottle the man offered him and rinsed the sour taste in his mouth.

"I'm alright," he wiped his face and straightened.

He jumped slightly at the screech of the screen door pushed open again and frowned when he saw Aramis coming out.

"The blood's not completely dried; I think it happened about an hour ago at most." The man said.

"The local authorities have been informed," Athos said, "I'll stay back to meet them, you should take Porthos."

"I'll call ahead and warn Lemay, d'Art can stay with you." Aramis nodded, "Should I take Bonnaire?"

"He'll only be a distraction for you," Athos shook his head, "I've asked the Captain to contact Mrs. Bonnaire, we'll sort this at the office."

Within minutes Bonnaire was secured in a chair by the counter in the boathouse and d'Artagnan watched through the mesh of the screen door as their car pulled away with Aramis. He watched Athos as the man made his way back to his yacht, disappearing into the control room.

"If my wife sent you for me, why is it that I'm tied up?" Bonnaire asked.

"Your wife failed to tell us what it is that you do," d'Artagnan replied, "And now that we know, we're not sure if you're someone we should help."

"I'm a simple tradesman,"

"Who buys and sells human beings,"

"Oh no, I'm just the middleman," Bonnaire shook his head, "I collect them, get them across the border –"

"Illegally,"

"That's a harsh word," Bonnaire shrugged, "legal is a broad term you see,"

The audacity of the man was igniting the already worn short fuse of his temper, clenching his fists by his sides; it was all d'Artagnan could to not punch Bonnaire again.

"These are people you're talking about!"

"Yes, people looking for a better life,"

"And do they get it?" d'Artagnan growled as he towered over the man, "you play on these peoples hopes and dreams and lead them into a worse existence than they had."

"Sometimes," Bonnaire leaned back in an effort for some escape, "it's not always like that."

"So you check up on them regularly?"

"Some of them," Bonnaire squeaked, "Maria keeps track of some of the young ones."

Disgusted and fearing that he may just hit the man again d'Artagnan stepped away from him. It was then that he heard it, the sound of a motorboat on water. He glanced out the small back window but nothing appeared in his sight. D'Artagnan moved towards the door when the noise gave way to silence.

He saw the third boat docked at the pier and watched the woman boarding The Fere. Torn between warning Athos and keeping his own presence a surprise, d'Artagnan cautiously made his way closer to the pier.

A soft click was his only warning as something cold pressed into the back of his neck.

"What have you done to my husband?"

"Mrs. Bonnaire?"

"Don't turn around," the woman snapped, "walk ahead, come on, get moving."

Cursing himself quietly for not checking his surroundings d'Artagnan let the woman push him ahead and back on board The Fere. If he was surprised by the appearance of Maria Bonnaire he was shocked to a standstill at the sight of the woman who stood between him and the door to the control room of the yacht.

It was her, the woman who had saved his life, the woman who had told him of Athos; it was the woman with the three small blue flowers tattooed on her wrist. She stood there wielding a dagger.

"Do you see her too?"

D'Artagnan tore his gaze away from the woman and her beautiful deadly smile. With an effort he looked to Athos who stood in the doorway, a bottle of wine clutched in one hand and another rolling at his feet.

"Do you see her too?" Athos asked again.

His bloodshot eyes were fixed on the dark haired beauty.

"Yes, yes Athos I see her,"

His friend shook his head slowly, eyes not straying from the woman.

"But you're dead," Athos voice wavered, "You hung yourself in prison – I – I had to identify your body."

Those cat like eyes rolled and the woman twirled the blade on her fingers.

"Shows exactly how much you know me husband dear," she said.

The words sank slowly in d'Artagnan's mind. He blinked rapidly and shook his head.

"Husband?"

"Athos you didn't tell him?" she admonished playfully, "Yes d'Artagnan, Athos and I had been married for years."

The young man looked to his friend for any sign of negation; instead he heard a sound that he hoped never to hear again from the man. Athos gave a chocked moan like the presence of this woman was physically hurting him.

"Athos?" d'Artagnan darted forward.

He was stopped in his tracks by the dagger that rose in a flash to rest against Athos' throat, pinning his friend to the doorframe.

"He's a loyal one," the woman smiled at Athos before turning to the younger man, "I knew you'd be good for him d'Artagnan."

Athos eyes flashed suddenly.

"How do you know d'Artagnan Anne?" he demanded.

"Oh we go way back," Anne winked at the boy, "I sent him to you, a perfect addition to your lot isn't he?"

His heart sank at the look of betrayal and hurt that skittered across Athos' face.

"No! Athos it's not like that!" he wanted to reach out and grasp the man but stopped when the woman's blade drew blood.

Raising his hands in surrender d'Artagnan stepped back.

"Stop it, just let him go," he said.

Anne raised a brow and eased a tiny bit away from the man who seemed to be reliant completely onto the doorframe at his back to stay upright. D'Artagnan had no idea if it was the wine or the shock of seeing his apparently alive wife that had clearly taken the fight out of Athos.

"Go and get your husband Maria," Anne ordered, "these two won't be a problem, right boys?"

There really wasn't much for d'Artagnan to do especially when Athos wouldn't even look his way. It left him in a helpless sort of anger. Why wasn't the man fighting back? He had taken down stronger and more dangerously positioned enemies easily.

"It's a shame that I'll have to get rid of this yacht," Anne smiled as he fingers traced the white surface by her husband's face, "we made such wonderful memories here didn't we Athos?"

"I should have burnt it down the first chance I had," Athos said.

"And where would I be living then?" the woman smiled, "Yes husband mine; this had occasionally been my home. Remi knew that, he called me as soon as he saw you after all these years."

"So that's it? You've come to finish me off then,"

The resigned tone in those words made d'Artagnan bristle.

"She's here for Bonnaire," he spoke up, "you made a purchase from him didn't you? Or placed an order? He's the middle man after all."

The woman pressed the dagger against Athos' neck and turned to the younger man with a grin.

"Look at you joining the dots, but yes I'm here for Bonnaire," she turned back to the man at her mercy, "And I could have murdered you a hundred times over if I wanted that Athos."

"We're all set Anne," Maria came aboard carrying fuel tanks.

She set them on the deck and tipped them over. The sharp smell of fuel rose in the air even as d'Artagnan dodged the splashes. This was getting old he decided, his second case with these men and yet another maniac was getting ready to set a vehicle on fire.

"You got what you're here for," he said, "let us go."

"With pleasure," Anne smiled as she turned and smashed the hilt of her dagger against the side of Athos' head.

She shoved the dazed man back into the control room just as d'Artagnan felt something hit the back of his head. The world swayed around him and he hoped it was the yacht rocking on the waves. Distantly he registered the spark of a match and staggered towards the control room as the flames rolled up on the deck.

He caught Athos by the front of his shirt the second he realized the man was stumbling towards him and pulled him out into the rising heat. The high flames devoured the paint as they spread and the pungent smoke blocked their escape much more effectively than the fire itself.

He had half a mind to jump overboard but with Athos as inebriated as he was d'Artagnan let it be his last option. Skirting the blazing heat he moved along the wall of the control room and made for the stern that was not yet on fire.

Coughing and sweating the two men gulped the cleaner air as they leaned over the heated railing.

"We'll have to jump," d'Artagnan wheezed a little as he squinted down at the pier.

He didn't wait for Athos to acknowledge, the fire at his back was enough of a motivation to grab his friend and leap overboard.

They landed hard on the wooden surface and d'Artagnan belatedly realized that his arm was on fire. Hastily wriggling out of his jacket he grabbed Athos and made for land; stopping only when he felt the gravel under his feet.

Breathing heavily he plopped down beside his friend and tried to catch his eye.

"Athos? Athos are you burned anywhere?" he asked.

The older man looked at him blankly, wincing when d'Artagnan held him by the shoulder. He shoved off the touch and pushed to his feet.

"Don't," Athos said, "Don't touch me,"

* * *

 **I really need to keep a check on the word limit for these chapters….**

 _ **mon frère [French] = my brother**_

 _ **querido hermano mío [Spanish] = dear brother mine**_

 **These are google translated. I know zero about French and Spanish languages, hence avoid long dialogues in them; but these I just couldn't do without, so if there is a mistake I apologize.**

 **And I said it before, I have no medical knowledge.**

 **Thank you people, all who read, follow and favorite this story. Thank you all who leave me reviews, you're awesome!**


	9. Chapter 9

He had never been slapped in the face, punched? sure, smacked in the face with assorted items? ofcourse, but never slapped; yet d'Artagnan was sure that the sting of Athos rejection was exactly the humiliating pain he would associate with getting slapped. He sat outside of Remi's boathouse, gravel digging into his knees, scorching pain lancing up his left arm as he blinked to clear the sudden tears in his eyes and watched Athos stagger away from him.

The heat and glow of the fireball that was Athos' pocket yacht painted the world in a creepy dance of light as the young man pushed himself upright.

"Athos wait!"

His friend didn't even pause on his way to the boathouse and d'Artagnan tried to ignore how much it hurt. Shaking the ringing in his ears he followed the man in and found his friend emerging from the back office with a crystal decanter in his hand.

"Just hear me out," d'Artagnan said.

"Tell me she was lying," Athos took a mouthful from the flask in his hand, "tell me that didn't happen."

He wished from the bottom of his heart that he could, he would lie till he was blue in the face if it would erase the pain in his friend's eyes but d'Artagnan knew that it would not be so. They could not un-see, they could not un-hear what had just transpired.

"She was here Athos,"

"She's dead,"

"No, she's alive and she was here."

"Did she send you to me?"

"It's not like that,"

"Did she send you?"

"She told me about you she –" he stopped short at the pained hiss that came from his friend.

Athos gulped down nearly half the bottle in one go and stumbled to lean back against the counter, his elbow slipped from the edge and he smacked his shoulder on the countertop instead. D'Artagnan reached out to help but Athos scrambled to keep the distance. The younger man stopped in his path, worried that his friend might hurt himself worse in his inebriated state.

"Were you working for her?" Athos asked, "all that happened with Vadim, was it a part your plan? Did you help him access our files?"

"What files?"

"Our files! Porthos, Aramis and mine. Vadim sold that information to someone." Athos took another mouthful and waved the bottle in a wide arc, "someone out there knows about us, there's a target painted on Aramis' back and on ours by extension. Porthos and I, we didn't want to tell you because we didn't want you to think that we blamed you."

That was what they had been working on behind his back; d'Artagnan realized he would have been happy not knowing. Because the declaration sent his head spinning like a wheel off of a skidding car, his knees wobbled slightly and he reached out to grasp the shelf for support. He had no idea how far the repercussions of that one mistake had gone, the magnitude now was amplified by the knowledge of Aramis' family history that the man has shared with him in the form of his real name.

"The Captain said they didn't get much," d'Artagnan shook his head, "I repaired the damage and the breach wasn't that bad, most of the data was safe."

"Most of it," Athos nodded, "they knew what they were coming for."

Silence hung between them like a dagger on a fraying thread. The older man stared at the spot on the floor between them and d'Artagnan felt a lump rise to his throat at the sight of the red rimmed eyes that finally looked up to meet his.

"That wasn't a part of some plan between you and Anne?" his friend sounded like it hurt to ask.

"No. No Athos I swear to you it was nothing like that! Please you have to trust me on that."

Athos gave a snort and took another gulp from his drink; d'Artagnan was getting worried about the amount of alcohol the man seemed intent on consuming. He wanted to ask him to stop but it was clear that Athos wasn't ready to listen to him, much less to heed his advice.

He needed air.

And he needed help.

D'Artagnan drew back and out of the boathouse, fishing his mobile phone from his pocket. He called one of the three numbers that were dominating his calling history; just the thought of how the recent revelations would erase that had him tearing up.

Wiping a hand across his eyes he listened to the dial tone. The call was received almost immediately.

"Aramis? You gotta come back."

Even through the mobile phone he could hear the screech of tires as his friend hit the brakes.

"Are you alright?"

" 'm fine, it's Athos, he's upset. Mrs. Bonnaire came for her husband and she had Anne with her, you know Anne? Athos wife? He's married you know? Was married I think. She came with Mrs. Bonnaire and they took Emile and set fire to The Fere, Anne had been living there you know and Athos is mad at me and he's getting drunk like really really drunk and he won't listen to me because he hates me and I don't want him to keel over and die of alcohol poisoning."

"He won't die of alcohol poisoning pup, he's tried and failed too many times." Aramis sounded serious but confident.

A small part of him felt a bit reassured but the huge part of him was just glad that Aramis hadn't asked him to explain, that he had listened and apparently understood his rant.

"d'Art?"

"Yeah?"

"I want you to talk to Athos, keep him talking alright?"

"What about?"

"Anything; what about you practicing with your guitar at the flat? He'll be arguing with you in no time," Aramis teased lightly.

"OK," d'Artagnan nodded to himself.

"If he's talking he won't be drinking,"

"Alright," d'Artagnan nodded again, "You're coming back right?"

"I am,"

He had driven out with Porthos not more than ten minutes ago, d'Artagnan checked the time and mentally calculated how long he'll have to keep Athos talking before going back inside only to find his friend had found another bottle of wine.

"That's not helping Athos," he said.

His friend raised the bottle in silent salute.

"It never really did," he replied.

"Then what's the point?"

"Wanted to drown out their faces," Athos said as he picked at the label, "didn't want them staring back every time I closed my eyes."

D'Artagnan had no idea who 'they' were but he refrained from asking. He crossed his arms in front of him and leaned back against the wall, the stretch of the aisle between them seemed enough to keep Athos from trying to retreat from him.

"Did it work?"

"Sometimes; when it got to the point where sleep and unconsciousness blurred into one," Athos shrugged, "other times it's a good distraction."

"I don't think so,"

Athos blinked, he looked at him with his head inclined a bit to the side and gave a very uncharacteristic snort.

"You remind me of Thomas, you know that?" he said, blinking against the sudden wetness in his eyes, "my Thomas, my baby brother, he was a stubborn one. Wouldn't let go once he got hold of something; I kept telling him, kept telling him to let it go, to just stop, leave it be –"

" But he was curious," d'Artagnan nodded.

"Exactly, too curious for his own good," Athos' smile was bitter, "So she murdered him, when I walked in and saw that –"

Athos broke off with another gulp from the bottle in his hand and d'Artagnan pushed his shocked brain to restart the conversation. He had gone numb at the implications of Athos' declaration, what was he supposed to say to the man whose wife had murdered his brother?

It was sorely inadequate but all he could think of was, "I'm sorry."

The eyes that fixed on him were vacant; the boy almost wished for the despair to return and fill them up again with the wet shine of tears.

"Why did she send you to me d'Artagnan?" Athos asked.

"She didn't," he shook his head; "She saved my life and said if I wanted to find the truth about my father's murder I should find Athos."

"You think I had something to do with your father's death?"

"No!" he declared instantly.

But he had, in the beginning when he had feverishly searched for Athos' trail he had been sure that it was the man who was somehow involved in his father's murder. He had been certain of Athos' guilt until he had met the man.

"At first I thought so," he admitted "But now I know you'd have nothing to do with it. I assumed at first, why else would she have singled you out?"

Athos nodded and contemplated the drink in his hands.

"I don't know how her mind works." He shrugged finally, "she could have sent you to keep an eye on me, or she could have sent you to hurt me like she before."

D'Artagnan frowned as Athos' eyes widened at his own words, whatever the older man had realized it was not good. He saw his friend shake his head and turn away, it upset his precarious balance and Athos had to clutch the countertop to keep from stumbling to the floor.

"Athos?"

"Go away," it may have seemed petulant if it didn't sound so cold.

"Athos please," d'Artagnan had no idea what he was asking for; all he knew was that the quite order frightened him.

His friend shook his head without turning around and the younger of the two felt something heavy drop down his chest. Was he being kicked out of the job? Or was it just from team one? If Athos had tossed him aside would the other two do the same? Will he lose the brothers he had just gained? Could he survive that? These three men had become such an integral part of his life that their absence would tear it apart all over again.

The sound of a car door closing outside pushed out the exhale he hadn't realized he had forgotten to let go. Blazing anger seared up to his ears and d'Artagnan turned to the door of the boathouse, slamming it hard after him.

* * *

To say that he was surprised by the call from d'Artagnan would be an understatement but the surprise of a lifetime came with the news their youngest had ranted about. But he had no time for clarification, if that woman was really alive then he feared to think what shape his friend would be in.

Aramis glanced towards Porthos as he pulled the car to a stop. The big man was snoozing, even breaths tapering into occasional wheezes as they blew out through the parted, chapped lips. Aramis pressed his hand against friend's clammy forehead, wincing at the heat still present.

But at least it hadn't risen than before and he hoped that the Paracetamol he had given his friend before heading out was working.

Porthos stirred at his touch.

" 'really hope y'r not drivin' with one hand," he blinked awake, " 'tis manic enough with one."

"You wound me my friend," Aramis pressed a hand to his heart and grinned back.

"Is that The Fere?"

Aramis followed his friend's line of sight at the smoldering mess on the water and nodded even as he clutched Porthos' shoulder to hold him in place.

"Athos and d'Artagnan are fine," he said, "You wait here and I'll get them."

" 'Mis?" he wasn't convinced but as far as Aramis was concerned that wasn't an issue.

"I can –" whatever Porthos was about to suggest was drowned out by the coughing that had him nearly bent over. The only thing keeping him upright was the seatbelt and the only comfort was his friend's hand in his hair.

Aramis helped him ease back and ruffled the curls under his fingers.

"They're safe in the boathouse but you're in no condition to follow me out brother," Aramis patted his shoulder, "Just wait alright? And drink some water."

He handed a grumbling Porthos a bottle of water and stepped out of the car. The cold hit him the second he emerged and he shut the door after him in a hurry. He was just pulling his coat tighter around himself, thankful for this one article of clothing to have been spared of rain and river, when d'Artagnan emerged out of the boathouse like a man with murder on his mind.

"He's inside," the younger man growled.

He didn't wait for a reply as he made for the pier and Aramis hurried after him. He pulled the younger man straight when it seemed like he was untying Remi's motorboat.

"And where are you going?" he asked.

"That's none of your business," d'Artagnan snapped as he shook off his hold.

Aramis pulled his friend away from the pier with a bit more force, but he was not prepared for the hard shove to his chest that nearly made him lose his footing. Stumbling back a little he saw a flash of guilt in those dark furious eyes before the scowling face turned away.

"I'm going after her," d'Artagnan ground out without turning to face him.

"She's long gone,"

"I'll follow then, I'll bring her back,"

"You can't –"

"Don't tell me that! I need answers!"

Aramis reached out and grabbed the tense shoulder only for the younger man to step away with something that was nearly a snarl. D'Artagnan turned to him with a barely contained rage trembling in every line of his posture. The dark eyes narrowed dangerously and the simmering remains of The Fere cast a manic glint in them.

He stepped into Aramis' space and jabbed a finger in his chest.

"What is your problem Aramis?" d'Artagnan demanded, "Your friend is in there, why aren't you helping him?"

"Because my other friend is out here probably hurting more,"

"I'm not your friend!" d'Artagnan's voice was just short of a yell, "Anne sent me! I betrayed you all! Don't you get it? I betrayed you all."

His voice faltered and the furious eyes dropped to regard the ground.

"I need to go find her," he said.

With that he turned and Aramis stepped close to stop him. He hadn't thought that the boy had been trained enough to move as fast as he did but it was years of his own training that made him duck the fist that came swinging for his face. He caught the next right hook around the wrist pulled his friend down and wrapped an arm around his neck in a headlock.

"You won't find her and even if you did she won't let you leave alive," he grunted as d'Artagnan pushed with all his weight and brought him down hard on his back.

Gravel dug into his back as the younger man scrambled off of him and he swiped his foot under d'Artagnan's leg to bring him down as well. He grabbed the boy's left arm to pin him down but the sharp hiss had him releasing his hold instantly and entirely missing the punch flying his way.

Pain exploded in his jaw and he pressed a hand in the gravel covered ground to keep himself upright on his knees. The taste of blood had him spitting the liquid instantly.

"Oh God! Aramis! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Oh God!"

He couldn't help but smile at the horrified, worry filled eyes that met his as a pair of hands hovered by his face. Aramis snagged his friend's wrist to keep him from bolting again. Spiting aside to clear the awful taste from his mouth he wiped the blood from his lips.

"Split lip and I probably cut the inside of my cheek," he said, "Calm down pup, you didn't even knock lose a tooth."

The younger man blinked and dropped to his knees, he swayed a little before his forehead connected with Aramis' shoulder in a solid thump. A shudder escaped him. His breath hitched as he clutched at the front of his friend's coat and let out the tears that had been burning for an outlet. Aramis felt the muscles quiver under his hand as he held the boy close and wished with all his heart that Anne had stayed dead.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I have to find her Aramis," d'Artagnan choked out although he didn't pull away, "I betrayed you all and Athos hates me."

"He doesn't hate you mon frère,"

D'Artagnan shook his head, effectively digging it a bit more into the warmth that was his friend.

"He can't even look at me, he –"

"Is drunk," Aramis cut him off, "and hurting."

"I –"

"And not hurting because of you, not like you're thinking."

That shook free a sob and the younger of the two couldn't hold back the fresh onslaught of tears. It was a few minutes before d'Artagnan pulled back but he didn't shake off the hand on his shoulder. He wiped a hand over his eyes and colour rose to his face as he frowned at the wet spot on Aramis' coat.

"I cried all over you," he muttered as his eyes dropped in a silent mortified apology.

Aramis couldn't hold back the laugh as he offered his shoulder a squeeze.

"If you only knew of all the times I've been used as a hanky," Aramis shook his head, "Come on, we have friend likely passed out in the car and another in the boathouse."

Together they got to his feet and when d'Artagnan held close his left arm, Aramis frowned. The younger man shook his head and stepped out of his reach.

"Burned it a little during our escape," he said, "I'm fine."

Aramis had come to know that his new friend had a tendency to punish himself for perceived shortcomings, he had half a mind to call him on it but then he heard the soft sniffling and knew he couldn't push him just yet.

"I'll see to that one, you go sit with Porthos," he said.

"Aramis I don't think –"

"Not a request," he pointed out, "Get in there and keep a watch on his breathing."

The nod was a relief he wasn't expecting, the sight of their youngest bent on chasing down a trained assassin in open waters had him more on the edge than he had expected. That woman had already claimed Thomas' life; he knew they couldn't let d'Artagnan meet the same fate.

* * *

The warm haze he had been floating in was broken by a sharp cold draft. He opened his eyes and saw d'Artagnan settling behind the steering wheel; his dark eyes were bloodshot when they met his.

"Athos?"

"Is fine, or will be," d'Artagnan shrugged, "Aramis is with him."

Porthos nodded as he suppressed the tickle at the back of his of throat; his sides were starting to hurt with all the coughing. Opening up his seatbelt he turned on his side and regarded his young friend.

"What about you?"

"I'm fine."

"Your sleeve is burnt,"

"I'm fine."

Porthos sighed; which he instantly regretted as the tickle turned to an itch and his chest burned as it tried to get rid of the water he had inhaled. It felt like a claw was trying to tear up his lungs from the inside and his eyes watered in an effort to breathe. When the spots dancing before his eyes finally subsided he felt the hand curled in the back of his shirt.

"Breathe Porthos please, calm down, breathe, breathe please," d'Artagnan sounded absolutely terrified, "Should I call Aramis? I think I should get him, no? please breathe Porthos..."

Pulling on his dwindling reserves of energy Porthos shifted his aching body straight and patted the hand that had come to clutch at his arm.

" 'm fine," he said.

D'Artagnan snorted. Porthos regarded him wearily and shook his head, grinning as he found the worn humor dancing in the dark eyes.

"We're all fine," the youngster shook his head too.

"So you're gonna tell me what's eating you?"

He watched the boy cradle close his left arm and nod towards the remains of The Fere.

"Mrs. Bonnaire came back for her husband, with Anne," he said, "Anne that is Mrs. De la Fere."

Porthos remembered that woman, he remembered the whirlwind romance when Athos had disappeared then came back around in their lives with the abrupt call for 'a wedding this Sunday; before disappearing again'

"She's dead." he said.

"Not completely it seems," d'Artagnan turned to his side and rested his head against the backrest, "Athos didn't take it well."

Porthos cleared his throat as he tried to come to terms with the news; he suddenly understood why Aramis had turned them around. He took a drink of water when the irritating scratching in his windpipe didn't abate.

"Athos told me about the information Vadim stole," d'Artagnan said, "I didn't know – I swear Porthos, I had no idea –"

"No one blames you pup,"

"But I messed up and I put you all in danger,"

"It was a mistake and you didn't know what that man was planning," Porthos told him, "even we don't know who's after the information he stole."

"Could be Aramis' family," d'Artagnan said.

"Could be, that's why you can't tell him about this." Porthos told him seriously.

"Wouldn't it better if he knew to watch his back?"

Porthos chuckled that gave way to a cough. He waved off the hands that hovered uncertainly to help him and waited for the air to reach his lungs again.

"He'd go out looking for whoever's coming for him," he managed with a wry smile.

"That's even better, meet your enemy at your own terms," d'Artagnan nodded.

Porthos couldn't keep from rolling his eyes; ofcourse the kid would find wisdom in a suicidal move.

"Perfect now there are two of you," he groaned, "Just don't tell him d'Artagnan, you don't want to see him in protective mode."

The younger man nodded and sniffled a little, "I can't believe I did this. And Athos thinks I did it because of Anne, because she sent me –"

"She sent you?"

The younger man cringed at his question and pressed back into the door. The back of his head connected with a thud against the glass and he closed his eyes momentarily.

"Yes," he said finally, "she told me about Athos. She saved my life and told me to find Athos if I wanted to get to the bottom of my father's murder. The police believed it was a mugging gone wrong but they had found a partial fingerprint on his body and a man was caught on camera leaving the alley. They never found him though. I saw the picture too and I thought that was Athos."

"But it wasn't," Porthos prompted.

D'Artagnan shook his head, "Clearly, he looks nothing like that man. The more I found out about Athos the more I realized he'd have nothing to do with it, until I met the man and –"

"Set him on a pedestal,"

"He's someone who made his own way despite his family's position and he has a highly decorated military record despite the short time he was an active duty. He's a man of his words, he respects others and commands respect in return," d'Artagnan looked him straight in the eyes, "he's someone I wanted to be growing up."

Porthos wished his friend could see the defiant regard in the youngster's eyes. It made him fiercely proud of his best friend but it didn't stop him from pointing out the obvious.

"He's still human,"

D'Artagnan frowned and cocked his head to the sound. Porthos refrained from pondering how like a puppy he looked.

"He'll hurt and he'll make mistakes," he explained, "he'll get angry and he'll say things that'll hurt you."

The boy looked down at the arm he was cradling and couldn't stop the few tears from escaping. He rubbed his eyes hard with his good hand and nodded. Porthos let him get a hold on his emotions and focused on finding the exact measure of his own breathing that would keep the coughing at bay.

"You know what you need?" he asked his young friend.

"A new arm?"

"A Du Vallon hug, come 'ere," he didn't give the boy a chance as he pulled him in as big a bear hug as he could manage.

D'Artagnan squeaked and tried pull away against the swift motion but it was too late. The boy was stiff in his hold but Porthos had learned from the best and he simply held him in the embrace. A grin broke out on his exhausted features when he felt d'Artagnan loosen a bit with a huffed laugh. His good arm wriggled free and at last he hugged him back.

Porthos gave him one more squeeze and let him go.

The younger man wiped at his eyes as he pulled away, patting his friend's arm as he went.

"Feeling better?" Porthos asked.

D'Artagnan grinned and nodded, looking genuinely surprised.

"That's the Du Vallon hug for ya," Porthos winked at him, "My mum was the best at it, even Athos can testify to that."

He remembered how one hug from his mother could lift all the weight off of him and worked even for his two best friends. Athos had been beyond surprised when she had pulled him close the first time and Aramis had stiffened up like a stick, loosening up only when she let him go. But that had changed over time, even when they were all grown up and Athos and Porthos too had been often embarrassed by her open insistent affection, Aramis had unabashedly sneaked in hugs whenever he could.

"She sounds like she was an amazing mum," d'Artagnan's smile turned wistful.

It was the unsure awed look of a one who hadn't had much experience in the matter.

"She was and she would have loved to add you in her pack of little ones," Porthos told him.

"Really?"

The excitement and the hesitance pulled at Porthos' heart, he couldn't understand how the boy couldn't see that he was one of them now. The three of them had been friends for so long; they had never felt the need of another in their world, although many had tried and come and gone. Porthos had a suspicion that was the reason Rochefort hated Athos; he had tried to be a part of The Inseparables as they had been called throughout their younger years and failed.

Yet this boy had fit into their group like a lost piece of a puzzle.

"I'm sure of that," Porthos told him, "you're one of us pup; don't let anything make you doubt that."

* * *

A sour smell of alcohol wafted up to greet him. Aramis gave a wide berth to the pool of wine that was littered with smashed remains of a bottle. He found Athos slumped on the floor with his back against the counter. Dark hair fell in thick fringes over the bent head and the eyes that finally looked up to meet his were windows to a broken soul.

Holding back a sigh Aramis sat down beside his friend and draped an arm over his shoulders.

"She's alive," Athos sounded like he had been screaming

"So I've been told,"

Athos sagged into his side with a stuttered breath and Aramis rubbed his arm, pulling him closer. It was rare for Athos to seek physical comfort and Aramis knew that he and Porthos were the only ones he would turn to when he did.

"What hit you?" Athos asked.

Aramis gingerly touched his split lip and frowned at his fingers that came back stained red.

"I ran into a very angry little pup," he said.

"I told d'Artagnan to go away," Athos announced quietly.

"Is that all you said?"

Athos regarded him with a glare that was just a fraction of its usual intensity, it almost looked sullen and Aramis smirked.

"I mean no colorful yet cultured, elaborately descriptive snipes?" he clarified.

"No, I just told him to go away,"

"Well, you've told me worse a number of times and here I am," Aramis shrugged lightly.

"But you know me."

It pulled a smile from Aramis; the obviousness implied by his friend's tone unfurled a warmth in his chest. Athos could hold his liquor better than his two friends but when it got to the point of loosening his tongue then all the filters disappeared and that meant all the filters.

His friend burrowed closer and settled with his head against Aramis' shoulder; who held back a smile and let him find a comfortable position.

"D'Artagnan's getting there faster than you give him credit for and unlike Porthos and I, he actually respects you." Aramis said.

"But he left,"

"To get back in your good graces,"

"He never fell out of them,"

Aramis knew that but their youngest clearly felt that he had been in the wrong, he had yet to understand Athos' ability to push away people he cared about whenever he was hurting. They had decades of friendship between them while d'Artagnan was just getting to know them.

"He doesn't see it that way at the moment," Aramis said.

Athos tensed in his grip and pushed away abruptly, shaking his head as he sat up.

"She murdered Thomas, she'll murder him too – I can't survive that – I can't lose d'Art like that– if she comes after him because she wants to hurt me again –"

"She's not getting anywhere near him," Aramis promised.

Neither of them could go through losing another brother, he was sure that he wouldn't be the only one determined to not let that happen.

"When I saw her –" Athos broke off with a harsh breath he sucked down, "my first thought –" he swallowed convulsively and glancing aside Aramis found him paler than before.

He rested a hand on the trembling back as Athos clenched shut his eyes, yet a few tears still escaped his control.

"I was glad that she was alive," it came out a choked gasp, "I felt glad to see her alive. She murdered my brother and now she's out there free and I was glad to see her alive. What the hell is wrong with me?!"

Athos groaned and swallowed and Aramis shifted his grip as the other man curled forwards on his knees.

He held his friend up through the bout of vomiting, offering nonsense mummers to keep him grounded. Athos coughed and brought up seemingly all the wine he had so eagerly consumed, until he had nothing left and was left a shaking, groaning mess.

He was pliant in Aramis' hold as his friend heaved his upright and put up no protest when he staggered with him out into the cold. The hit of chilly air snapped open Athos' drooping eyelids who cringed at the brightness and pushed away from Aramis to slump down against the wall of the boathouse. He sat there clutching his head in his hands.

At length he looked up at Aramis who had come to crouch before him, offering him water. Athos rinsed his mouth and took a few sips.

"This seems familiar," he said.

Aramis rolled his eyes and offered him a small smile.

"I prefer the privacy of our bathroom but the view here is better," he shrugged.

Athos pressed his fingers against the side of his head and regarded him with squinting, bleary eyes.

"Have I ever thanked you for all those times brother?"

Aramis blamed the emotional ringer he had been through for the sudden lump that rose in his throat. He reached forwards and grasping the back of his friend's neck, he gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"You don't have to, just do me a favor yeah?" he said.

Athos looked surprisingly clearheaded as he sat up with shoulders squared and nodded at him.

"Please don't go down this road again. We'll face whatever it is to come but I can't have you disappearing and haunting all the pubs in London not knowing if I'll find you alive again."

Athos' eyes dropped and Aramis felt his heart sinking. But then his friend gave a single sharp nod and it was better than any promise he could have voiced.

It was with a much lighter heart that he waited for Athos to gather his bearings and when he was ready, both of them made their way over to the car. His friend groused as he effectively buckled him in the back seat and Aramis couldn't resist the temptation of a patronizing pat on the head for Athos.

He didn't miss the way their youngest avoided looking anywhere in the direction of Athos and the older man took to staring at the backrest before him like it held the answers to all the questions of life.

Rolling his eyes Aramis turned to d'Artagnan.

"You get mopey and dopey here to Lemay and I'll catch up as soon as the mess here is cleared."

"Me?"

"I can't see either of these two driving, you think you can manage with that arm?"

"Of course I can,"

"Good, there's some regular pain meds in the bag if it gets too bad." Aramis back away from the car and wrapped his arms around himself, "See you then,"

He caught Porthos' eye who winked back and urged their youngest to get going. Aramis stood back and watched their little blue car until it was out of sight. He took out his mobile phone. His first call was for Doctor Lemay.

"A little busy here Aramis," the man greeted him.

"Athos' coming in too,"

"How bad,"

"Still lucid," Aramis said, "don't lecture him though, he might nearly be justified in his reaction this time."

"Fine,"

"Wait; don't bug d'Art either, he's burned his arm badly but if he denies just go with it."

"I'm a doctor Aramis I know how to do my job,"

"I'll remind you next time you ask me to get Porthos to calm down."

"And why exactly am I listening to this?"

"Because we're friends Georgey."

"It's Doctor Lemay, Doctor George Lemay!"

Aramis snickered and nodded along until the doctor on the other end cut the call. He took a deep breath and dialed another number; d'Artagnan may not listen to him or Lemay but there was one person he knew the younger man would never deny.

"Hello there Constance…."

* * *

 **So not much plot development and it was a bit out of character; but hugs all around! :D**

 **Thank you everyone who read, favorite and follow this story. Thank you those who take the time to leave me reviews, you people have no idea how happy that makes me. And the guests who leave me reviews here's a BIG THANK YOU since I can't thank you personally.**


	10. Chapter 10

**WARNING: Mentions of past loss of a child.**

* * *

She had met him in school, a gangly bookish young man who her then boyfriend was fond of pushing around; until she took care of it. That was the first instance she had talked to him and over time she had found him a sensitive soul, although a bit prone to tantrums. Her busy student life and the imagination of her friends had done the rest. It was comfortable to have him as a boyfriend and she had fancied herself in love even.

But she had assumed that love would have hurt a lot worse than it did when she finally broke off her engagement. It must have been the left over anger Constance decided; they had talked four times in the seventh months he had been gone on his tour and then John Bonacieux, fashion designer extraordinaire, had called her in the middle of her shift accusing her of not giving him the time of the day.

Frowning darkly at the list in her hand she pushed the trolley ahead, relishing the clink of steel tires in the quite of the supplies room. She wasn't a fan of coming down to the drafty basement but all her friends had been extremely sympathetic about her recently turned single status and her only escape had been to volunteer to go for the supply run. Taking opportunity of the slow night, she had implied to her fiends that she needed a good cry when all she wanted was to get away from their eyes full of pity.

She checked her watch and hurried along the aisle to collect the items, d'Artagnan would be arriving soon by her calculation. Constance had already consulted with Doctor Lemay and the good doctor had let her take the lead in d'Artagnan's case. She didn't know the details, but Aramis had warned her that there might be some residual grumpiness there. Constance hoped that it wasn't so; she was in mood to have her patience tested.

The hiss of a quite argument reached her ears and her frown deepened; she had assumed she was the only one down here. Constance turned around the aisle and pulled her cart to a stop to keep it from bumping into the pair.

The woman gave her a wide eyed look and the man shifted on his feet, his piercing gaze pinning her to the spot. They were in the pale pink scrubs of the pediatrics wing although Constance was sure she hadn't seen them before anytime she had gone up to that floor.

"Can I help you?" she asked, "It's easy to get lost in here when you're new."

"We didn't come here for the supplies," the woman said, "just some privacy,"

Constance nodded and back tracked, she could take a hint. Besides there was something about the two that wasn't sitting right with her, it was in the glare of the quite man and the too much make-up of the woman; Constance was only too happy to get out of their sight.

She was just putting her supplies in the closet up in the Emergency Room when d'Artagnan's voice filtered through to her; she decided not to linger on why she could identify it out of the crowd.

"…he passed out about ten minutes ago and Porthos' fever is rising again I think, no I'm fine just see to them please."

"d'Artagnan?"

The worried eyes turned to her and she could see the stiffness in his shoulders ease. In three long steps he covered the distance between them and pulled her in a tight embrace.

It didn't matter what her co-workers would think, it didn't matter that she had only just broken off her engagement and the sight of this man set her tummy fluttering, all that she cared for were the minuscule tremors running through the man who sank in her hold like a child scared of thunder.

When he pulled back she didn't let him go completely.

"How about we see to that arm?" she asked.

He nodded and wordlessly followed her to the examination room. She motioned towards the cot by the wall and he dutifully moved to sit.

"It's not so bad," he said.

"I can see," she returned with items she would need, "it's just that the skin is nearly all burned off, and only that the flesh is quite clearly exposed in some places and I'm sure the infection that could set in is no big deal."

"See not so bad," he grinned slightly.

She smacked him on the shoulder and his grin grew wider. Taking a seat before him she gently pulled his left arm away from his chest. He hissed at the movement and Constance arched a brow.

"Fine, it hurts." He groused.

"Glad we could establish that," she said as she readied the injection of the pain medication, "this will help."

"No," he pulled his arm back in a flash.

And there was the grumpiness she had been waiting for. Constance gently placed the injection back and crossed her arms before her. D'Artagnan cradled his injured arm and glared right back at her.

"Can't you just bandage it up?" he asked.

"Not before you take something for the pain."

"I don't need it."

"Or don't want it?"

"Whatever you want to believe," he shrugged.

Constance pushed her chair away and got her feet. She began setting the items she had brought in the order of use and then moved towards the door. She heard the man behind her hurry to his feet as he caught her hand to stop her from leaving.

"Wait please; where are you going?"

"To get the doctor,"

"But –"

She turned to the man she had come to care for in the short time she had known him. He still had his injured arm pressed close to his chest and despite the anger thrumming from his very presence she could tell that he was suffering.

"I'm your friend d'Artagnan; I can't stay here and watch you in pain." She said, "Someone else might be able to help you the way you want but I will not stay here and watch you suffer because of some misunderstood notion of stoicism."

"It's not that,"

"Then what?"

His eyes dropped and he ground his teeth as though holding back his words. It dawned on Constance what the matter was and those shreds of dissipating anger gathered like a storm cloud in her.

She turned fully and jabbed a finger in d'Artagnan's shoulder. He stepped back in surprise, eyes widening at the sudden change.

"Is this some kind penance?"

"Look Constance –"

"Do you think you deserve to be in pain?" her eyes narrowed dangerously as she drew near.

The man before her backtracked with his good hand raised in surrender, but Constance wasn't done; she had no idea what had befallen these four men but she would absolutely not tolerate this.

"It's not like that!" he squeaked.

"Not like what? You think whatever you believe you've done wrong in some way warrants this?" She stood over the man who had backed up until he had no choice but to sit down again on the cot he had just vacated.

She gently pulled his injured arm out and caught his rather terrified stare. Her glare softened and a smile touched her lips.

"You may need to seek forgiveness or fix whatever you think is your fault but this is not the way. Even if you had made a mistake d'Artagnan, none of your friends would want to see you hurting," she sat back in the chair, "now should we start again?"

This time he made no protest and she carefully cleaned the wound, glad that the medication had dulled his pain as she cleared the damaged skin and dressed it with a non-stick bandage. She was mentally locating Doctor Lemay so that he could write d'Artagnan a prescription when she felt his hand grip hers.

"What happened?" he asked.

She glanced down at their joined hands and realized he was talking about the missing engagement ring. Constance braced herself for the loss to hit her but there was nothing; and that itself was painful enough to bring an angry prickle to her eyes.

"We broke it off," she shrugged, "but I'm fine."

"Ofcourse you are fine, he'd be the one suffering at having let you go," his eyes widened at the words that had left his mouth, "I mean – I'm sorry it didn't work out."

She raised an eyebrow because he clearly didn't look sorry and the man had the guts to offer her a cheeky smile. Constance rolled her eyes and ducked her head to keep her smile a secret. Before she could say another word, the hospital security guards rushing past the window caught her attention.

Constance poked her head out and watched them disappear behind the door to the stairwell. She saw Susan and asked her what the matter was.

"They've lost a baby," Susan told her, "Word's spreading that it's a kidnapping."

* * *

She had no idea when the late evening had turned over to early night but when she found herself on the terrace the clouds from earlier had drawn away to reveal the stars in the inky sky. The commotion from inside the Bourbon Cottage reached her in a distant murmur as she traced the cold marble of the balustrade, wondering what would happen if she took off. What if she just ran, off of the terrace, out of the room, away from the house, out of the estate and just vanished.

"But Richelieu that doesn't make any sense!" the sharp whine from her fiancé cut through the quiet and she stopped to lean against the railing.

Louis wouldn't notice her gone until Richelieu would point it out; Anna dropped back her head and stared at the sky as the familiar sensation of being adrift and towed at the same time coursed through her. She was like a ring buoy that had been accidently knocked overboard but still bound to the boat it was trailing after.

"You said he had died, you assured me!" Louis didn't sound happy.

Her gaze drifted to the glass doors of the terrace; the eyes of the girl in her reflection met hers. They inquired after her dreams and ambitions. It made her wonder where had they gone and Anna looked away; because they had been tossed up like a graduation cap and then lost under too many eager feet.

"Isn't this a beautiful sight," the voice crawled over her skin.

"Rochefort," she said as she drew herself to her full height and pinned him with a cold glare.

"Why the formalities my love?" he slithered around the terrace furniture, "we were once to be married."

His hand rose to hold hers but she moved out of the man's reach and closer to the doors. The day she had found out Rochefort was friends with Richelieu, was the day her longstanding engagement with Louis turned worse. While her would-be-husband had dismissed her worry as her imagination, dodging the increasingly bold advances of the man was becoming a norm.

Why her brother had once entertained the thought of her marriage to Rochefort she couldn't imagine. But then her mind drifted to Louis and the answer was clear; family businesses and family politics, she had been brought up in the shadow of both.

"I am engaged to be married to Louis,"

"That can be changed easily," Rochefort smiled, "you know he doesn't appreciate you. Not like I do."

His gaze crept over her and she had to suppress a cringe, she would not give him that.

Anna decided she had neither the stomach nor the patience to tolerate the man's presence and moved to leave him be. The hold on her wrist stopped her with a jerk, his arm snaked around her waist and the old Anna, the one long lost, suddenly reared her head.

The slap was hard enough to leave her hand stinging and out of the two, she had no idea who was more surprised.

"Nice shot!" a cheerful voice followed the sound of soft clapping.

They both turned to watch Aramis make his way out on the terrace. His smile had a sharp edge to it and his eyes gleamed with something more dangerous than mischief as he regarded Rochefort.

"It's exhilarating isn't it? To find violence in a woman," he asked as he leaned back against the balustrade.

"What are you doing here?" Rochefort demanded.

"I could ask you the same thing,"

"I could just shove you off of here,"

"Please try that won't you?" Aramis spread his arms a little; there was a cold glint in his dark eyes and bloodlust touching the corner of his smile.

Anna saw Rochefort shift his weight on his feet, saw him clench his fists and waited for a retaliation that never came. Instead the man stepped away from her and nodded towards the door.

"I take it that the Captain is here?" he said.

"You're welcome to go and check,"

"I know he's here, I saw him drive in,"

"So stating the obvious is a part of your amazing skill set?" Aramis smirked.

Even Anna could tell he was looking for a fight; she wasn't surprised when Rochefort grabbed the man by the scruff of his coat, but she wasn't expecting the gun that came to press against Aramis' head.

"You better watch who you're taunting Aramis, some of us aren't bound to the same ideals as you," Rochefort warned him.

"And what do you know of my ideals?" Aramis' smile never faltered.

It was then that Anna noticed the glint of a blade he had pressed against his captor's sternum.

"You brought that to a gunfight?" Rochefort snickered.

"If I know how to use it, it's more than enough." Aramis shrugged and slanted the dagger, "it'll cut through the aorta right here; and even if you shoot me in the head you'll still bleed out on this terrace."

Rochefort glanced down, as though wondering if he should call the other man on it. Anna really hoped he didn't; she had a feeling that Aramis might just prove his theory. She didn't even turn to the sound of footsteps that approached the trio.

"What the hell is going on here?" Captain Treville demanded.

"I found Rochefort Captain," Aramis' gaze remained locked on the man before him.

Rochefort looked to their superior and reluctantly stepped away from the man in his hold. The two of them stowed away their weapons under the Captain's glare.

"Get back inside, we have a situation,"

"I thought I was off duty," Aramis said.

"You'll want to be in on this," the Captain said before he turned to leave with Rochefort at his heels.

Aramis turned to her; with his hair in wild damp curls, a split lip surrounded by bruising and shadows under his eyes that she only just saw; for a second there he looked like a man wiped out. But then the easy bright smile drowned out all the rest and he offered her the blade he wielded, hilt first.

Surprised by the offering she shook her head. But the man simply grinned and folded the blade in its grip; he caught her hand and wrapped her fingers around it.

"For next time when that creep comes to you," he said.

She had half a mind to object but Aramis was leaving and she could only watch him go.

* * *

"Let me summarize that. Your mother is kidnapping her grandson, your nephew because…?" Aramis pinched the bridge of his nose as a scowling Louis, sitting before him, kicked at the edge of the carpet near his feet.

"She wants him to be the Bourbon heir," he said.

"But he's not?"

"My older brother died in a car crash; his wife, this Agnes person, survived. But no one told me they were having a child!"

"We have reasons to believe that Mary Bourbon had a hand in that accident," Mr. Richelieu said from where he sat beside Louis' chair, "Now that we had only just sorted the mess of succession and gotten the company stabilized, this child should it come to light can cause a lot of problems. We need you to take care of it."

"And what do you mean by that?" Captain Treville asked.

"You keep the woman and her child safe and deliver them to us."

Aramis didn't like the twisted smile Mr. Richelieu's new personal bodyguard was giving him. He was a small mountain of a man with a shaved head and a grim face. Standing beside the man, Adele Bessette was doing her best to pretend he didn't exist. Aramis couldn't blame her; the man's presence was an offense to her position as the head of security and the guards she commandeered.

"So you could do what?" he asked.

"I can raise him," Louis spoke up with a happy grin, "I'll raise him."

Aramis' brows shot up to his hairline, especially because of the twitch on Mr. Richelieu's face at the declaration of the Bourbon heir. He knew perfectly well what happened to children born in the net of power and the thread of this little one's fate seemed already knotted around too many fingers.

"If you cannot do this I can send Labarge," Mr. Richelieu said.

His personal bodyguard gave a curt nod but Treville shook his head and Aramis was extremely thankful for the Captain's decision. The older man rubbed the back of his neck and wiped a hand down his face.

"We'll send someone in, an inconspicuous couple who can guide the mother and child out." He said.

"We'll get right on it," Rochefort nodded.

"My team is still at this hospital, we can pull this off," Aramis suddenly didn't want Rochefort getting a hold of this child.

"Your team is incapacitated," Rochefort pointed out.

"The reason you're putting me on extra duty was because my team was at the hospital and probably in danger," Aramis turned to the Captain, "If this Mary Bourbon is as ruthless as you make her sound then I want to be on ground where my team is, as a part of your plan or without it."

The Captain nodded even though it was obvious that his mind was busy planning.

"Charon and Flea will be in the parking lot for a quick getaway, Ninon will be providing cover and Rochefort will coordinate with the hospital security," he said, "If Ms. Bessette would help us out we'll have a couple to reach the new mother."

Aramis didn't hear her reply, a shivery anxiousness stirred in him as he suddenly realized what role he had decided to step into. He had deliberately steered clear of any fancy of settling down with anyone after his divorce with Isabelle, she was the harsh example of what his father would never let him have.

"…is that understood Aramis?" Treville inquired, he sounded like he had been lecturing.

Aramis nodded; a smile already on his face like the so many defensive maneuvers that had become second nature by now. He pulled out his best charming look and dropped on a knee before a very surprised Ms. Adele Bessette.

"Ms. Bessette would you do me the honour of being my wife for the next few hours?" he gave her a playful grin.

"I suppose I can endure," she rolled her eyes.

As he got to his feet and she took the arm he offered, Aramis tried not to let his mind wander to the young wife he had escorted such, he tried his best to mute the happy chatter of a would be mother that still resonated in his mind and he ruthlessly pushed back the memories of her face, turned away from him as her father shoved him out of the hospital room.

He had no time to go down that lane, there was nothing there for him but the car that never stopped and a ruined life left in its wake.

* * *

He sat between the two beds, to his left, sleeping against a mound of pillows was Porthos; Doctor Lemay had been pleased to note that despite the slight build up of fluid in the man's lungs the medication was working and he was hopeful that once the immediate start of the infection was handled Porthos could just escape the ordeal with a mild case of bronchitis.

On the other hand, the tall doctor hadn't been impressed with Athos' inebriated stupor and had left d'Artagnan alone to welcome the man back into waking. The young man wondered where Aramis was, he didn't think he could handle another round of Athos' betrayed gaze and scanned the now guarded doors of the emergency wing for the familiar face.

When that didn't happen his eyes strayed to Constance who was talking to a patient down the ward. He didn't feel like examining the emotions he was going through concerning the revelations on that front and with a swipe of his hand down his face he looked back to Athos; nearly gasping at the sight of the man watching him.

His mind stumbled over so many words but none came forth.

"Um – hi?" d'Artagnan managed.

Athos nodded as he pushed himself up into sitting and swinging his legs down the side of the cot in one fluid motion. The younger man was on his feet, hands stopping just short of touching his friend who swayed at the edge of the cot.

"I think you need to lie back down,"

Athos raised his head and caught him with the look that was far too sober than it should be.

"I still trust you," he said.

It was succinct, to the point and just so much _Athos_ that d'Artagnan wanted to hug the man and then punch him. But then he had already punched a friend recently and he didn't want to start a tally, so he just dropped back down in the chair with his head in his good hand.

"You spent the past hours in the car sulking and now you're telling me this?" he looked up at his friend.

"I had a headache," Athos pinched the bridge of his nose, "Still do."

"Well that explains everything then," d'Artagnan couldn't keep the snap from his words.

Athos raised a brow but d'Artagnan was having none of it and glowered darkly. His arm throbbed, his joints ached and every time he closed his eyes he saw Athos' accusing gaze when the man turned away from him.

"You rejected me and questioned my loyalty Athos," he said, "I had a life before I agreed to join you all. Granted that it wasn't the best life but I chose to join you. Not because I was scared of being incarcerated, I could have disappeared before that happened and it was certainly not because some woman told me to. By the time the Captain's offer came I was already quite sure by then that you weren't behind my father's murder; so that wasn't the reason. Would you like to guess what it was that made me chose this path?"

Athos was studying him closely, his gaze cutting through the weak defenses around the boy's roiling emotions, and he gave a slight shrug as though to prompt him to go on.

"It was you," d'Artagnan ran a hand through his hair; "you were the idiot I was trying to destroy and when I was sitting there with that bomb in my lap you wouldn't leave me alone. I could have unbalanced it and set it off any second but you still stayed with me. And when the other two idiots refused to leave you alone I realized that's what I wanted to have. "

Athos wouldn't look at him, he sat staring at the floor and d'Artagnan felt like shaking him to get some response. Instead he grasped the cold armrest of the chair with his good hand and glared at the man. There was a storm behind those expressive eyes when they finally met his.

"I did doubt your reasons to join us and I am sorry for that," Athos said, "but that was not the reason I wanted you to leave. I did not reject you."

The older man clutched the edge of the mattress in a death grip and seemed to tremble at the words he was collecting. D'Artagnan was ready to ask him to just let it be when Athos focused on his again.

"I loved Anne, I chose her – in the face of all the objections; I chose her. And when she murdered my brother, it was painful; not just the loss of Thomas but her betrayal as well." Athos faltered and he dropped his gaze again, his next words were barely above a whisper; "I cannot go through another betrayal that deep and if she comes for you, I cannot bear another loss like that."

The quite confession rocked d'Artagnan to his core; he had never imagined that the man he respected would hold him in this regard. He suddenly remembered the drunken Athos telling him that he reminded him of Thomas and just like that he was embarrassed at his foolishness to not understand what that meant.

The younger man reached out and placed a hand on his friend's arm.

"You won't have to Athos; I'll do my best that you won't have to go through any of that again." He said.

* * *

He felt heavy and achy all over yet the feverish blur in his mind had cleared. There was a jumble of muted noise around him but it was hushed words in the voices nearest to him that pushed him to blink open his eyes. The bright light set his headache gonging anew and shifted his head to get away from it.

"Porthos? Are you waking up then?"

He frowned at the female voice and forced his eyes open to find Constance looking down at him. She adjusted the pillow behind his head and helped him take a few sips of water.

"What –" he cleared his throat, "happened?"

"I brought you to the emergency room, don't you remember?" d'Artagnan asked.

Porthos rolled his eyes as he pushed himself to sit up further against the pillows, of course he remembered that.

"He means to ask what it is that we're talking about," Athos spoke up.

Sometimes Porthos was extremely grateful for his friend.

"Nothing you should worry over my friend," Athos added.

And sometimes Porthos just wanted to throttle him.

"We were discussing the missing baby," Constance told him, "The security is going through each floor looking for the people who took him and the doors are all manned."

Porthos nodded although that wasn't much clarifying and did a silent head count, he frowned when he realized Aramis was missing; but as though summoned by his though alone his friend emerged from behind the drawn curtain.

"There you people are," Aramis grinned and cuffed d'Artagnan on the head, "charge your mobile phone once in a while will you," he said.

Porthos tolerated the hand that pressed to his forehead but slapped away his friend's fingers when they came to examine the IV stuck in his hand. Aramis grinned and pretended to poke at it again as he perched on the end of the bed.

"What took you so long?" Athos asked.

"We have another assignment," Aramis replied as he waved towards the bruise on his face, "you see my wife Adele and I were in an accident so she is insistent to meet her Doctor since it's our first child all. If her doctor happened to be Doctor Duval and if she just met her long time friend Agnes there then it's a happy coincidence."

"Agnes? The woman whose baby was kidnapped?" Constance eyes rounded and Aramis frowned at her.

As she and Aramis swapped information Porthos caught Athos eye over the other's head. This was not good; this was too close to home for their friend; he only hoped that they could keep an eye on him as it all unfolded.

"So they already took the baby?" Aramis ran a hand through his hair

"Yes, baby Henri has been missing from the nursery for an hour now, the police had been notified." Constance nodded.

"So change of plans,"

"You had a plan?" Porthos managed a grin.

"I did and it read 'ask Athos,' in bold letters." his friend smiled back.

"Good plan,"

"Why is this, our assignment again?" d'Artagnan wanted to know.

"Because Henri is Louis' nephew and the doting grandmother has reached a new level of possessiveness." Aramis pulled out a picture on his mobile phone, "This charming lady is Mary Bourbon and our current suspect."

"I know her!" Constance frowned, "I mean I saw her and an angry looking man."

"Where?"

"Down in the store room,"

"It's likely they are hiding down there," Athos said, "Waiting for the coast to clear and when the police will start looking outside of the hospital, they could easily walk out of here."

"I should tell the security," Constance began to move away but Aramis stopped her.

Porthos watched the range of emotions flitting over his friend's face in a matter of seconds before it settled back into a charming smile. He didn't like that reckless glint that came with it and with a groan he turned to Athos sitting on the bed next to his.

"He's thinking again," he said.

"And that's never good," Athos agreed.

"I'm right here." Aramis rolled his eyes.

"I don't think they mind," d'Artagnan shrugged.

Porthos chuckled and Aramis huffed out a laugh; the big man couldn't help but note the touch of hollowness in it.

"I have to go, I do have a job to do you know," Constance pulled away from them before she pointed to Aramis, "You have fifteen minutes before I tell the security."

They watched her leave in silence before Athos turned to Aramis.

"What's on your mind?" he asked.

"I can't hand that child over to Louis," Aramis told him plainly, "there has to be a way to keep the mother and child out of either of their reach."

Athos' face softened, he was about to speak but Aramis cut him off with a shake of his head.

"I know what it's like to be caught up in family intrigues," he hung his head and rubbed the back of his neck, "I'll call on Senor Alvaro and get them settled in Spain. I just need your help to get them out of here without either of the Bourbons knowing."

As far as Porthos knew his friend steered clear of dipping into the inheritance his mother had left him, he had used it once when he'd bought the flat after marrying Isabelle. The big man's heart hurt for all the parallels he knew his friend was drawing with this situation.

He laid a hand on Aramis' arm and turned to Athos.

"I'm with him on this," he said.

Athos rolled his eyes and raised his hand that had an IV stuck to its back.

"I was only going to ask him to get rid of this," he said.

* * *

The door was locked, the small square window set in the metal gave nothing away and Aramis leaned back from it with frown. He motioned for the keycard and the woman before him rolled her eyes in a resigned sort of annoyance.

"I still don't understand why I'm helping you," Constance whispered as she handed over her card.

"Because you love to have some excitement in your life," Aramis gave her a cheeky grin.

She smacked him in the chest with the back of her hand and he ooffed dramatically. Athos looked terribly unimpressed and a glance towards d'Artagnan found the younger man swinging the doll they had acquired from the 'new parents' classroom' by its ankle.

Following his line of sight the older man grabbed the toy from d'Artagnan and hastily wrapped it up in a blue blanket.

Gently opening the door, Aramis offered his two friends a mock salute and followed Constance into the supplies room, leaving the door halfway open behind them. They didn't need to look far for their target, the large man pacing and growling was easily found.

"I'm telling you Mary he'll need feeding soon," the man turned at the sound of their approach.

He had a bundle wrapped in a blue blanket and looked decidedly shocked at the sight of them. Aramis had stepped ahead before the man had the chance to properly raise his weapon. He knocked it away with one hand and shifted the child into his arms in a single motion.

" _What about Angela?" he asks._

" _Elana?" she counters._

" _Eva?"_

" _What if it's a boy?" A smile curls up her lips._

 _The reality of it leaves him staggering all over again and he hides it by pulling her in an embrace._

" _Alex?" he asks._

" _Jonathan?" her voice is too leveled to be serious._

" _Like that uncle of yours who spat on my shoes?"_

" _So… not Jonathan then?" Her eyes sparkle as she looks up at him._

Aramis blinked away the sudden memory and turned around in time to see Constance kick away the man's weapon. He was about to hand over the child to the young woman when the kidnapper made a grab at her. Much to Aramis' surprise Constance stomped down hard on her assailant's toes; grabbed his head using his own forward momentum and slammed her knee into his face.

He simply gaped as she puffed away the loose curl from her forehead and smirked.

"I grew up with four brothers," she grinned, "and I always have an advantage in these situations."

"What's that?" he could not look up from the man sprawled between them.

"People always underestimate me," she smirked.

Aramis had to bow down to that and he did with as much flourish as he could, only to earn himself a smack on the head to usher him along so that they could make the switch. He had only just grabbed the fake from Athos when he felt the cool touch of a gun's muzzle at the base of his neck.

"Give me the baby," said the woman.

Taking a breath, Aramis shook his head. He had to buy time for the others to take up position. Besides, she wouldn't believe the ruse if he gave up too easily.

"I'll paint the walls with your brain if you don't."

"That'll certainly earn you the grandmother of the year award,"

The cold metal dug harder into his skin.

"Who sent you?"

"Your son," he replied, "Louis wants this child as much as you do."

He didn't see the butt of the gun that slammed into his shoulder blade but the impact sent him stumbling forward. Playing up the impact of hit he only put up a weak protest as the woman snatched the bundle form his arms. He watched her sprint out and away; feeling assured that the others would have blocked her paths to lead her on the only one they wanted her to go.

Jogging after her he saw the woman enter the stairwell and informed Adele and Rochefort of the progress. He wasn't surprised to see the security rushing in from all the floors as the woman ducked and dodged making her way to the roof.

They had her backed against the ledge by the time Aramis made it up there; but he was shocked to see the young mother had followed them up as well.

"Please that's my baby, please oh please!" Agnes was in hysterics as she was pushed back by the security.

"It's not real, it's not real, it's not real…." He kept reminding himself.

"Just get back from there Mary, there is nowhere for you to go," Adele had her sidearm trained on the woman.

"Please my baby," Agnes wailed.

" _My baby! Aramis, my baby's gone," Isabelle sobs._

 _He reaches out to comfort her and she flinches away; there are purple stains on his hands, there is dried blood on his hands. He has blood on his hands….._

"It's not real, it's not real…"

"Just walk to us slowly," Adele puts her weapon away, "No one will hurt you,"

"Please…" Agnes sobbed.

"I'm not giving it up! Louis will not have him."

"That's my baby, please he's just a baby," Agnes tried to get through the swarm of security guards but they pushed her back.

Aramis wanted to comfort her, no mother should go through this; but his feet wouldn't let him move and the cold sweat breaking over his back made him shiver.

"It's not real," he whispered to himself.

… _The twin beams of the car come out from nowhere. He is running even as he screams her name, he watches her turn, he grabs her arm and even as he pulls her to him the car clips her side….._

"Louis will not have this child as his pawn, not him and not that damned Richelieu!" Mary snarled and let go of the bundle over the edge.

A collective gasp stilled the night. Agnes screeched and scrambled forward; clawing at Adele to let her go. And Aramis clenched his eyes shut. Reminding himself that they had planned this, that they had wanted her to do this, that the real baby Henri was safe….

… _He is once again sitting outside her hospital room. This time he has the papers her father had thrust at him. He wipes at his face and messages Porthos to get back straight to the flat when his class is over; the last fight his friend had gotten into had left him with a pretty bad concussion. And that reminds him that he had to find Athos, that bloody idiot wasn't picking up his calls again._

 _He is still staring at his mobile phone when he realizes that it had been vibrating for quite some time. It's not a number that he knows but he picks it up anyway; half the pubs in London have his number by now so he hopes it's another one calling for him to pick up Athos._

" _Yes,"_

" _How's the wife?"_

 _A chill goes down his spine._

" _You – you –"_

" _First that Du Vallon bakery and now this, you've really collected some bad karma,"_

 _For once in his life Aramis has no words._

" _I told you there's only one path for you son…"_

...His back hit the cold door of the stairwell and Aramis shuddered. There wasn't enough air in the universe to reach his lungs and he clutched the wall to move out of sight of the men subduing Mary Bourbon. He staggered into the shadows, wheezing as though he had run a marathon. It was near the vents that his wobbly knees finally refused to support his weight.

His chest felt tight, his lips tingled and his throat burned dry as he tried to pull in air. A distant part of him warned that he was panicking but the rest of him was just desperate to breathe. Gray and black edged his vision as white pin pricks flashed before his eyes. Aramis shook his head and felt the bile churn in his stomach.

Something warm settled on his neck, gentle, strong, solid; and the world tilted on its axis. He clenched his eyes shut against the sudden vertigo and focused on the movement on his back; a gentle pressure moving up and down his curved spine. Warmth curled around his wrist and pressed against his heart; murmurs rode the silence, a soothing ebb and flow off waves on a shore.

He gasped.

One breath.

Two.

In.

And out.

In.

And out.

"…that's it; you gotta hang of it, just like that…"

"…easy Aramis, the baby's safe you know that, we're here, ssshhh…"

He blinked the moisture from his eyes and found himself staring at his own folded legs and Porthos' lap. His bent head was pressed against his friend's chest and Aramis pushed it up until he could burry his face in his Porthos shoulder. His friend's hand was an anchoring weight against his heart that was still beating too fast.

"…You back with us yeah?" Porthos asked as his thumb dug into the point where his neck and shoulder met.

Aramis nodded; turned his hand to shift it in Athos' hold and clasp the fingers that had been pressed against the pulse point at his wrist. His friend gripped him back with just as much strength if not a bit more; the soft yet firm pressure up and down his spine guided his breathing still.

Aramis was aware that his friends shouldn't be up there on the roof in the cold night, especially Porthos. But as few tears rolled down his nose and got soaked up by his friend's sweater he hadn't the heart to ask them to leave.

* * *

 **Thank you everyone who read, follow, favorite this story and Thank you all who take the time to leave me a review. You comments are adored and doted upon.**


	11. Chapter 11

In the end he was grateful, for Porthos' intuition and his own worry, yet he had kept a keen watch from the corner of his eye of the big man beside him; just because Porthos was a stubborn fool didn't mean Athos was going to let him risk his already shaken health. In the short span of time before they had entered the elevator he had forced his friend into two of Doctor Lemay's sweaters and by the way Porthos was wriggling and grumbling he was sure that they were far from the size suitable for his friend.

The sharp hit of the cold night air pulled him from his thoughts and the two of them moved out of the way of the security guards as they evacuated the roof. They found Adele, tight lipped and bright eyed as she led a weeping Agnes past them, but the face they searched for was nowhere in sight.

It was uncanny the way Athos and Porthos turned as one to the sound of a muffled groan. Their shoulders bumped in their haste to reach their friend who was hidden from view by a vent. Skidding to a stop Athos felt his heart lurch at the sight that greeted them.

Aramis was on his knees, one hand braced against the floor at his side and the other clutching his chest. Harsh, choked gasps escaped him and he trembled like a leaf about to be blown away by the wind. It was Porthos who moved ahead first and Athos found himself following a step behind.

The big man cupped a hand around Aramis' neck and lifted his chin, his thumb stroking against the bearded jaw that was clenched tight against a phantom pain. Aramis' eyes were open only at half mast but it was enough to show the blown pupils, dilated to the full, and Athos found himself grasping the wrist of the hand his friend had clenched against the ground.

As Porthos tilted their friend forwards, Athos kept a check on the flying pulse under his fingers. He stroked the bent back, taut muscles twitching under his hand, as he tried to ease Aramis out of the panic that had taken hold of him.

It felt like ages for the strangled panting of their friend to finally settle into something resembling a pattern.

"…that's it; you gotta hang of it, just like that…" he heard Porthos' voice.

"…easy Aramis, the baby's safe you know that, we're here, ssshhh…" Athos hadn't even realized he had been talking himself.

His conscious thought had only been focused on his friend who was slowly coming out of the fear that had trapped him. Athos found his own heart race when Aramis pressed his face in Porthos' shoulder and regarded him with wet eyes. The wrist from his hold slipped until he was gripping his friend's hand and when a few tears at last escaped down the man's face, Athos felt his own eyes burn.

They stayed like that a few more minutes until Aramis pushed himself away from Porthos and took away his hand from Athos in order to wipe his face with his sleeve. The cold and the tears had left his nose a harsh pink shade and his gaze still held a wet sheen, but Aramis smiled at them.

"I'm alright," he rubbed his hands over his face and drew them through his hair, "I'm alright."

"Sure, a picture of 'alright' you are," Porthos rolled his eyes.

"I am," Aramis grinned and shrugged, "I will be in any case."

Athos hated it and he marveled it; this ability his friend had to disentangle himself from a crippling agony, be it physical or emotional, and lock it up in neat little compartments behind the many masks he wore. He knew it was only the combination of exhaustion, fear of losing his friends and then this entire mess of a child in danger that had finally torn through the man's veil of a charming persona, but Aramis was nothing if not a master of tucking away the frayed ends of his guise.

"You just had a full blown panic attack," Porthos said.

"And I'm over it now," Aramis nodded, "won't happen again,"

" 'Mis…"

"It's silly I know," Aramis rubbed the back of his neck, not meeting their eyes.

And something snapped in Athos. He grabbed the scruff of his friend's shirt only partly aware that Porthos had done the same. Between the two of them, they gave their friend a fairly good shake.

"It's not silly," Athos hissed.

"Don't ever think that," Porthos growled.

Aramis' clasped their hands fisted in his shirt and his shocked eyes softened. His smile was a shy honest little thing, full of gratitude and touched with awe, it made Athos want to beat d'Herblay Senior into a bloody pulp.

"Thank you," Aramis said.

"Are you trying to get me to punch you?" Porthos asked.

Aramis threw back his head and laughed, bright and warm; like a stray beam of sunlight and Athos felt the weight of the past day wash off of him. His friend threw his arms around both of them and pulled them close.

"I love you too brothers," he grinned.

Porthos grinned and Athos rolled his eyes.

"Now that you've declared your love from the rooftop, I suggest we move indoors." Athos said.

* * *

He found them exiting the elevator and weaved through the crowd that had inadvertently gathered to witness the excitement. Suppressing an involuntary smile at the sight of Porthos bundled up tight in plaid sweaters, d'Artagnan motioned for his friends to follow him out.

"Constance is at the café on the corner and Agnes was being checked over by Lemay last time I saw her," he reported then frowned at his friend, drawing closer to him, "you alright Aramis?"

The man in question smiled and ruffled the hair at the back of his head.

" 'Course I am," he said, "and you need a haircut."

D'Artagnan batted away his hand as they exited out onto the quad and helped Porthos down on a bench. Police and security guards were searching the grounds around the building for the child Mary Bourbon had thrown off the roof.

"So they bought it?" Athos asked.

"They just caught her accomplice trying to flee the hospital,"

"Here comes the Captain," Porthos announced.

All of them followed his line of sight and found their superior making his way from between the police cars with Louis Bourbon in tow. D'Artagnan stole a look towards Athos and could see the man bracing for the dressing down all of them saw coming from the look on the Captain's face.

"I thought you were supposed to handle the situation discreetly," Captain Treville turned to Aramis.

"It was my plan Captain," Athos spoke up, "and as such I take full responsibility,"

"Did you get him for me? The baby? I want to see him." Louis piped up.

"About that…"

"You won't have him Louis!" the smile on Mary Bourbon's face was wild, "I will never let that Richelieu use that child to take keep hold of the reins of the Bourbon Empire, not when he has you as his puppet already!"

"He does not!" Louis stomped his foot and screamed back at her.

"Pathetic, spineless fool that you are!"

"I am not!" Louis yelled at her, "I am not a puppet!"

The policemen holding her tried their best to lead her away but the woman struggled and laughed at the reddening face of her son. D'Artagnan was afraid that the young man might just burst into tears and was surprisingly relieved when another policeman interrupted them.

"It wasn't real," he said, "The baby from the roof was a decoy."

"Her accomplice might have stowed the child away," Athos added lightly, "maybe he knows where the child is?"

"What?" the woman struggled harder, "No! Its Richelieu, it's his men, these men took the child!"

As Mary Bourbon was dragged away and the Captain tried to console the furious and teary Louis, Athos nudged d'Artagnan on the shoulder. The man nodded towards another car that had come to a stop in the hospital parking. Mr. Richelieu stepped out of the back of the car and beside him was another man.

Even at the distance, even in the dim light of the lamps in the parking lot, d'Artagnan could recognize that face…

… _He shivers when the water trickles down his collar and trails down his back; drenched fringes of hair plaster across his face and his clothes squelch in each fold of movement. His shoes had gained weight in tones it seems as he sloshes along, cutting through the water streaming down the pavement towards the gutters._

 _The rain is warm on his face; the raindrops are salty on his lips._

 _He comes out from under the perpetual canopy of moving umbrellas and warps his arms around his chest, pulling at the soaked sleeves with white wrinkled fingertips. People bump into him as they hurry past the crossroads. He stumbles along in their wake but the world is moving too fast. He has no idea when he left the coroner's building; he has no clue where he is…_

… Mr. Richelieu was scowling at his friends, his snide remarks making the Captain frown but d'Artagnan's eyes were fixed on the man beside the CEO. The deep set eyes met his gaze and the younger man could see the recognition spark in those eyes. The shaved head tilted slightly to the side and a tiny smirk pulled at the grim face…

… _.the video is grainy; it captures the dark figure of the man walking out of the alley. The streetlights cast patches of stained light and the man stops under one; he turns to glance back at something. It's only for a few seconds but it's enough, that face is seared into his mind…_

… A sound somewhere between a snarl and a roar tore from him and d'Artagnan launched himself at the man. It was clearly the sheer surprise of it that allowed him to tackle the large man to the ground. They landed in a heap and d'Artagnan's fists were flying even as someone tried to pry him off of the man. He wriggled free of the hold and landed a few good hits across the man's face and when he felt himself being pulled back by the arms, d'Artagnan kicked out. His boots swung wild and ferocious, contacting only a few times before he was hauled back.

"Enough d'Artagnan, enough!" it was Captain Treville's voice in his ears.

But it wasn't enough, there was a hurt animal in his chest that was clawing to get out and exact retribution, d'Artagnan struggled against the hands on his arms. The policeman and Treville had their backs towards the man d'Artagnan had attacked. That was why he was the only one who saw the man charge at him, a meaty fist raised and the younger man knew; he was absolutely sure that there was nothing to save him from it.

The sound of knuckles hitting flesh seemed to pull the world to a stop.

It was Athos; flanked on either side by Porthos and Aramis, he stood between the fuming man and a restrained d'Artagnan. Athos had caught the punch heading for the younger man and stopped the attacker midway.

"Stand down Labarge," Mr. Richelieu's voice rang out.

But the man simply grit his teeth and pushed against Athos' hold. The other two shifted a little, spreading in a small lose arch, ready to subdue the man at the first hint from their friend. D'Artagnan shook off the hands gripping him and pushed to his feet.

"He murdered my father," he said, "This man murdered my father."

"Can you prove that?" Captain Treville asked.

There was no doubt in d'Artagnan's mind.

"His face was caught on camera when he left that alley and I'm sure if you'll compare his fingerprint with the partial one they found on my father it would be a match." He said.

Labarge grinned at his announcement and d'Artagnan felt his blood boil. It was Mr. Richelieu who pulled his personal bodyguard away from Athos and frowned disapprovingly first at the man then towards d'Artagnan.

"We will not be pushing charges Captain Treville if you can assure me that you can control your men," he said.

"You may not do so but I'm afraid the sentiment isn't mutual," Athos spoke up before Treville could, "We would want Labarge here to cooperate in solving the murder of Alexander d'Artagnan."

"That's preposterous!" Mr. Richelieu's lips curled in a sneer, "are you implying that I employ murderers and thieves?"

"Wouldn't be the first time you're employees turned out to be thugs," Porthos said.

"Or do you wish to wait until he tries to strangle you in your sleep?" Aramis asked.

"This is ridiculous! I will not be insulted like this," Mr. Richelieu turned on his heels, "If you wish to bring a charge against my employee then go through the proper channels."

Labarge's face broke into a smug smile; he offered them a mock salute and turned to follow the CEO. It was the black rage erupting from the core of his heart that pushed d'Artagnan into action. The man who had murdered his father was going to walk out of his life and he was sure would disappear again without a trace.

But then it was right there for him, the answer, it was in easy reach, his for the taking.

D'Artagnan pulled out Treville' sidearm and covering the distance in a few long strides pressed the muzzle of the weapon onto Labarge's forehead.

"You are not walking away again," he said.

Labarge offered him a yellow grin.

"You don't have it in you," he said

"Want to test that?" blinding rage seethed in d'Artagnan's veins, "try and walk away now," he said.

From the corner of his eye he saw Athos stepping close to him, hands raised in a calming gesture.

"This is not the way d'Art, don't do this." He said.

"Should have taken care of you myself," Labarge told him, "should have sent you out with your father. It's a shame you weren't there with him that night."

"Don't listen to him," Athos said.

How could he not? The man was confessing to murdering his father and actually smiling about it. D'Artagnan's finger twitched on to the trigger and to his surprise Labarge pressed against the muzzle.

"You think you can shoot me? Go ahead then,"

"Don't let him goad you into it d'Artagnan,"

"He killed my father," tears burned in his eyes and stuck in his throat, "he ruined my life!"

"Don't let him ruin it anymore," Athos said, "You've made it here d'Artagnan, don't throw it all away for this man."

"I have nothing," tears leaked from the corner of his eyes, "I had no one, for so long I had no one…"

A gentle pressure on his shoulder made him choke back a sob; d'Artagnan glanced sideways towards Athos whose grip tightened on the younger man's shoulder and those expressive eyes bore into the side of his head.

"But you have us now," he said.

… _He is staring down at the green numbers counting down on the black screen, his fingers pressed along the edges of the base set on his lap and he tries not to breathe too hard lest he unbalances the two ball bearings set in the circle of the base._

 _The three men breaking down his door are not a surprise._

" _You have to get out of here, get everyone out of the building!" he yells at them._

 _It is Athos, the man he had been tracking, the man with that infuriatingly blasé look on his face who comprehends the situation first. With the tilt of his head he sends the other two back out the flat and crouches down beside d'Artagnan._

" _We have a problem Captain," he says to someone on the other end of his communication link._

" _You have to get out," d'Artagnan insists, "please get out."_

 _The man grants him a raised eyebrow and glances at the falling numbers that show they have just over three minutes left before the top of this three storey building goes off, quite literally._

" _Call them but I'm afraid it's be too late," he says then shakes his head, "it's a weird contraption, will likely go off if he so much as twitches."_

" _The building's evacuated," the large dark skinned man announces as the other two come back in._

" _Good, now get out." Athos says._

" _And let you have all the fun?" the other one rolls his eyes._

 _The three of them are crouching around him, each one looking the contraption in his lap up and down._

" _What if we lift it off him_ _ **really**_ _carefully?" the big man asks._

" _Do you want to risk that butterfingers?" the other one counters._

" _There could be another trap we don't see," Athos adds._

" _You could all get out," d'Artagnan points out._

 _Three pairs of unimpressed eyes pin him for a second._

" _Looks like your experience will have to do Captain," Athos says as he stands up and motions for his friend to take his place, "You're up Aramis; we'll need steady hands for this."_

" _Great, if I lose my fingers…." Aramis takes his place, head tilted to concentrate on the voice in his ear._

 _They are down to two minutes._

" _You'll likely lose more than that if this doesn't work." The big man replies._

" _If I'm getting blown up then I'm taking you with me my dear Porthos,"_

" _Wouldn't have it any other way brother," Porthos laughs._

 _One minute twenty seconds._

" _Gentlemen you've scandalized our target," Athos notes._

" _Nah, he's just petrified." Porthos shrugs._

" _Don't worry mi amigo," Aramis is far too cheerful, "One way or another, this will end now."_

 _He would have shaken his head if he had been able to, but since that isn't possible he simply closes his eyes and waits for the world to go up in flames…_

…He blinked rapidly to clear the wetness in his eyes and felt a nudge against the weapon he held. Labarge's hand was wrapped around his wrist and a sneer played across his face.

"Come on runt, take your shot," he said.

D'Artagnan steadied his weapon and cocked it.

"He called for you boy, when I dropped your father he called for you,"

Athos grip tightened on his shoulder.

"He had chosen the wrong enemy, messed with people far powerful then himself."

"He is just a lackey, d'Artagnan don't lose your chance to get to the bottom of this." Athos said.

"Your old man thought I was after his money," Labarge grinned, "offered me his wallet. Poor chap was so shocked when I stabbed him."

He remembered his father's smile, his eyes twinkling behind the spectacles. He could see the sober face framed by dark straight hair so much like his own and that determined set in his jaw line when he stood up for what he believed in.

"Please d'Artagnan…" Athos' voice morphed the images in his mind.

He saw Aramis, reeling from his punch yet holding on and refusing to let him go; he felt Porthos' arms around him and heard him confirm his place with these men and he saw Athos, he saw the cracks in the man's armor that he had trusted him with; he heard Athos' pain at the thought of losing him.

With a strangled cry d'Artagnan dropped the weapon and turned to bury himself in Athos' arms. He cried for all that he had lost and he cried for all that he had gained, in the arms of his brother he finally let himself go.

And then in the dwindling tension of the night a shot rang out.

* * *

He leaned back against the car and closed his eyes for a moment; it was hard to imagine that just a span of twenty four hours could leave him this exhausted, Aramis mused that he was getting soft. A smile pulled at his lips when he felt a presence beside him.

"Does it have to be The Manor?" Porthos asked.

"Senor Alvaro is a twenty minutes drive away from there," he said.

"It's a ten hour drive there and back for you."

It was the last place Aramis wished to return to, but it was also the one place he knew the Bourbons wouldn't dream of looking when they'd find that Agnes had gone missing as well as her child. The Manor was d'Herblay property and that was enough of a warning to keep intruders at bay.

So he shrugged and nodded towards Athos who was sitting with their youngest on the bench in the hospital quad.

"Athos is needed here and you need to rest," he said.

"They didn't find the shooter,"

"I never thought they would,"

"They're still weary to let Ninon off the hook for this," Porthos drew a hand through his hair.

"The angle was way off of her position," Aramis said.

Someone had taken out Labarge, they had been so focused on d'Artagnan, afraid that he would do something that he would later regret that when the kill shot had rang out each and every one of them was surprised. Although the police had been quick to take action and the matter wasn't in the hands of Treville and his people yet Aramis had a niggling feeling that there was something about the entire scene that was telling; if only he could decipher it.

"I guess I'll see you in the morning then," Porthos patted him on the back and made his way to where d'Artagnan sat.

Aramis nodded to Athos who went to hail a taxi and turned his attention to Adele who was exiting the emergency room with Agnes. Wiping a hand down his face Aramis said a little prayer of thanks that the young mother had accepted his offer to drop her home, their entire plan of her escape had hinged on it.

For the time being neither of the Bourbons had any use of her and as he recalled Mr. Richelieu's disapproving look something pricked at his memory. That man had been standing a few feet back and to the side of where Labarge and d'Artagnan had stood. Aramis replayed the moment of shooting in his mind and frowned at that piece of information that he couldn't pin down. He was about to stow away the nagging feeling when it hit him.

The slight shift of Mr. Richelieu's head, it was subtle and hardly worth noting by anyone but him. Because it was his long experience of looking through the scope of a rifle, especially when communications get cut, that had taught him to pick up and decipher the restrained signals. In that moment it dawned on Aramis that Mr. Richelieu might just have signaled a go ahead to the shooter.

"Are you sure it's no trouble? Your friend's might like your company after a night like this." Adele said.

Aramis glanced towards Agnes who had taken up seat at the front without a word. His heart clenched at the sight of tears that still rolled down the woman's face and he shook his head.

"Its fine," he said, "it's the least I could do after what she went through."

"Okay," Adele nodded.

"Will you do me a favor Red?" Aramis found himself asking.

The woman was either too tired or too used to it by now that for the first time she didn't protest the title he gave her, instead she simply raised a questioning brow.

"Can you keep an eye on Mr. Richelieu for me?"

"Are you asking me to sell out my client?"

"No, just keep your eyes and ears open; see if the name Cardinal turns up near him,"

"Cardinal?" the woman frowned.

Aramis nodded and got settled behind the steering wheel. He could see the cogs turning in the woman's head and he hoped that he had made the right choice in trusting her. As he revved the car to life Adele nodded to him.

"But no promises," she said.

"That's all I ask," he said and set the car in motion.

As he pulled the car out of the parking lot he glanced to his side where Agnes sat with her bloodshot eyes fixed on her lap, she didn't look up as she rubbed at her face with a rapidly tearing tissue. Her pale face and twitching fingers spoke volumes of the agony she was going through and if Lemay hadn't assured him of her physical well being Aramis would have guessed that she was in dire need of medical attention.

He parked the car outside of the café at the corner of the block.

"Come on Agnes, there's something here you might like." He said.

She looked at him blankly before her gaze drifted to the inviting window beyond the car; she gave a shake of her head and dropped her gaze again. Aramis exited the car, jogged to the other side and opened her door.

"Five minutes, I won't ask for more," he said.

They entered the café that was nearly empty at this time of the night. It made it easier for Aramis to spot Constance and the second the woman saw them she made her way over. He saw Agnes stiffen at the sight of the bundle in Constance's arm and gave her a gentle push.

"I believe Henry had been missing his mother," he said.

Agnes needed no further motivation; she covered the rest of the distance and shifted the baby into her arms almost reverently. She held her child close and dropped kisses on the tiny face that Aramis couldn't see from afar. It made his heart swell and he had to look away, only to see Constance wiping her eyes as she walked up to him.

He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation and the woman backhanded him on the shoulder.

"It's precious," she said.

"That it is," he could not deny it.

Constance smiled and handed him a large Styrofoam cup. Surprised and touched at the gesture he raised it to her in salute before taking a sip. The sweet, hot coffee flooded life back into his veins and he produced an exaggerated sigh.

"You are an angel," he told the woman beside him.

Constance merely bumped into his shoulder and grinned. They both watched Agnes settle her baby and at length turned to them, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"How can I ever thank you?" she said.

"Stay safe and happy," Aramis told her, "and there is a way that we can make it possible."

Between the two of them Aramis and Constance were able to convince Agnes to leave the country, at least until the Bourbons left her trail. As Agnes and Constance bid each other farewell, Aramis waited for them out by the car.

His mind wondered again, back to the hospital where Labarge was shot down. Taking a sip of his third cup of coffee he scanned the nearby buildings out of habit. There had been few high enough buildings near the hospital and Aramis felt himself repeat the shot in his mind. He positioned himself at the best perch, adjusted his rifle, looked down the scope and waited for the signal.

Aramis nearly gasped as he opened his eyes, his heartbeat picked up as he scanned the buildings again. Labarge had been shot through the eye; what if it wasn't chance but choice? That sort of shot took skill and practice and a particular preference.

He knew of only one man who preferred to take that shot, he knew of only one man who would be able to do so. Aramis sagged against the car and pinched the bridge of his nose. Only one name came to his mind; it was the only other name that his own shared a column with in a file he had memorized by heart. It was the file in the drawer of his bedside table boldly marked SAVOY.

* * *

 **Thank you all who read, follow and favorite this story. And to all those who leave me your thoughts you people are the wind beneath my wings, thank you!**


	12. Chapter 12

**WARNING: Violence, bloodshed and canon character death.**

* * *

The door to his room was open and the light from the hallway cast a neat triangle on his floor. Stretched as it was, the light still didn't reach his socked toes pressed into the rug from where he sat on the edge of his bed. His eyes felt grainy and his head throbbed with each beat of his heart.

The round edges of the small silver disks were smooth under his finger tips…

… _They are still in the training field having just finished a run of maneuvers when the man approaches him. He had heard of him, William 'Mad Dog' Marsac, an amazing shot but only just this side crazy. Aramis smirks, he has a feeling he has found a kindred spirit._

" _So you're the one everyone's going on about?"_

" _Depends on what you heard," Aramis shrugs._

" _That you're a pretty decent shot,"_

" _Ah no, that'd be the one they're calling Mad Dog." Aramis turns to face the man, "I'm the one everyone's sure to be the best shot in years."_

 _Sharp blue eyes narrow slightly and the cocky smirk that turns up his thin lips is one half approval and one half challenge. Marsac pulls out his sidearm and empties the bullets in his open palm. He shows one to Aramis and loads the weapon before handing it over to the man._

" _Prove it," he says._

 _Aramis raises a brow and nods; he takes a step back and Marsac tosses a penny. It's s split second calculation and Aramis fires the shot. He watches the other man stroll over where the penny fell and pick up the coin from the ground. He raises the penny and squints through clean hole burrowed through it._

 _With a nonchalant shrug Marsac takes the weapon from him._

" _Not bad," he says._

" _The word you're looking for is perfect," Aramis grins._

 _The other man raises another bullet held between his fingers and loads his sidearm; the next instant it's pointed at Aramis, an arm's length away from his eye. Marsac's grin is all teeth and Aramis wonders if that's what a happy shark looks like._

" _I may be a decent shot but even I won't miss at this distance," Marsac says._

" _You never know," Aramis shrugs._

" _Don't you want to know why I'm going to shoot you?"_

" _Taking out the competition," Aramis nods, "I can see the logic in that."_

 _If Marsac is surprised he doesn't show it; he steadies his weapon and presses the trigger. Aramis doesn't even flinch. A soft click is all that's heard and then Marsac tilts his head to the side, a playful smile appearing on his lips._

" _You're crazy," he says by the way of complement._

 _Aramis shrugs, he plans not to tell the man that he saw him palm the bullet the second time he pretended to load his weapon. He didn't know then that it'll turn out to be a game between them to freak out the rest of the men in their unit…_.

….the flesh under his nail was white and when he pulled his thumb away from the carved surface of the silver tags the writing was imprinted on the pad of his thumb. In the dim glow permeating his room he could clearly make out the initials.

'W.M' it read.

He twined the green cord around his fingers and let the small silver disks drop. The faint clink as they bump into each other resounded around him and he wondered if he should have knotted together the two ends of the cord from where they were torn...

… _He has been trying to leave behind his name for as long as he can remember. It's not an easy task by any means, but at least during his education his classmates and teachers had addressed him as Rene. And of course he had always had Athos and Porthos to keep him Aramis._

 _Here he finds himself d'Herblay again. It's on his uniform; it's on his locker, on anything that's assigned to him. It's what he's addressed as, it's what he's listed as; it's hanging around his neck and settled on his chest like a boulder._

" _Yo Aramis!"_

 _He looks up from the semantics in his hands and there is Marsac making his way to him…._

….the initial knot was there in the cord, tight and blunted by wear. The fine threads of green nylon were a fuzzy frayed end where the cord was hacked to free its bearer. Somehow he had never been able to complete the loop; never had the courage to reconnect the two ends.

With a shake of his head he pulled out the drawer in his bedside table and deposited the tags over the file in there. For a few minutes his hand lay over the cold brown surface of the file, fingers tracing the black title in a familiar pattern…

… " _SAVOY?" he cocks his head to the side, "the place?"_

" _ **S**_ _trategic_ _ **A**_ _daptability_ _ **V**_ _ariations_ _ **O**_ _peration,_ _ **Y**_ _ear: 20 –"_

" _And that means…?" he prompts._

" _Basically its capture the flag," Marsac grins then shrugs, "mostly."_

…..Faces rose in his mind; a nod, a grin, a tease, a taunt.

He pulled his hand away like it had been burned…

… _His sniper training has pulled him away from Athos and Porthos and he sometimes misses them so badly that it's like an ache in his lungs; in those moments he wonders if they miss him too. His hands pause in their cleaning of the rifle and he shakes his head to pull away from that thought._

 _An arm falls around his shoulders._

" _Come on, come on, we're celebrating tonight!"_

 _Marsac is just a bit tipsy and Aramis squirms until he is out of the sloppy hold around his neck. He sets the rifle in its case and regards the man he had recently started calling a friend._

" _And what're we celebrating?" he asks._

" _We survived three weeks in this place!" Marsac grinned, "its Saturday Aramis; we're not on duty so get up."_

 _He gets to his feet and lets his friend drag him out of the room._

" _Hey I know, we'll pretend that I'm gonna shoot you in the eye; let's see what the others think of that." Marsac is full of plans that will most likely have them running extra maneuvers come morning but Aramis doesn't mind…_

…He pushed to his feet, placing the file and the tags back in the drawer before he made his way out his room. The dull light in the hallway felt too bright against his tired eyes and for a few minutes he stood there, trying to decide what he could do. He had fixed the leak in the shower, he had arranged the broom cupboard, he had cleaned the kitchen and he had cleaned his weapons as well as those of his friends'.

He needed to do something; occupied hands and occupied mind were the only way to tune out his ghosts.

* * *

It was still dark outside, as though the world itself was loath to relinquish its cover and face the frigid morning. The lump in the covers shifted, wriggled and then rolled over in the warm cocoon. A hand shot out to silence the alarm clock before it brought down on him the wrath of one early morning Athos. It wasn't his fault that the particular grating tune had become the wailing default setting for his clock, he had told Aramis not to mess with it but said friend would not be denied.

Porthos stretched under the covers then poked out his head, savoring the irritation free breath he pulled in. It had been nearly two weeks since his dip in the river and as he lay there staring at the ceiling thankful of his friends' quick thinking that had saved him, a muffled thud reached his ears; it had been nearly two weeks since his friend had had a full night's sleep.

Pushing off the covers, Porthos swung his legs over the edge of the mattress and reached for his hoodie on the chair. Zipping it up, he padded across the darkened room and stepped out into the corridor. The door to the room next to his was open and Porthos paused in the doorway. He knew he wasn't the only one who was still getting used to seeing this door open; for years now, the fourth bedroom in the flat had been closed and looked over in a mutual unspoken decision. It had once been a snursery in the making but just a week ago Aramis had decided to clean it up for the fourth member of their family.

"Please tell me I didn't wake you up," his friend straightened.

"I was up already," Porthos shrugged, "set my alarm a bit early."

"I didn't hear the dulcet tones,"

"That's because I have to wake up before my alarm goes off thanks to you,"

"I was only trying to help,"

"No you weren't," Porthos shook his head even as a smile pulled at his face.

He nodded towards the bed his friend seemed to be setting up.

"This couldn't wait till a more human hour?" he asked.

"It's all in the name of our sofa's freedom," Aramis grinned, "the sooner this is set up the sooner we can dump the pup in here."

Porthos leaned against the door jamb as his gaze roamed over the nearly finished room and he felt a prickle in his eyes. He remembered how hard it had been for him to pack up his mother's belongings and he was privately glad that his friend hadn't had many things to wrap up.

Aramis made his way over to him, picking up the mug from the dresser as he went. Porthos glanced down at the dark, sludge like coffee in the mug and wrinkled his nose in disgust. His friend pointedly took a mouthful and smacked his lips in exaggerated relish.

"I'm sure that's doing wonders for your insomnia," Porthos said.

"It's technically not insomnia,"

"Did you sleep at all last night?" Porthos asked.

Aramis shrugged a shoulder noncommittally and the big man pinched the bridge of his nose.

"That's second night in a row 'Mis," Porthos said, "There is medicine to help you with that you know."

"I'd rather wake up from the nightmares," Aramis shrugged.

And what was he to say to that?

With a shake of his head Porthos simply plucked the mug from his friend and steered him out of the room with an arm around his shoulders. He ignored the fully assembled, freshly cleaned rifle Aramis had left on the coffee table in the lounge. It had become a semi-permanent fixture there and even d'Artagnan, who saw it first thing in mornings from his sleeping perch on the sofa, had stopped complaining about it.

Porthos kept the mug away from the halfhearted grabs his friend made for it and guided the man to the kitchen. It was spotless and gleamed like a picture from a magazine, thanks to the man who had spent most of the recent nights more awake than asleep.

Depositing his friend into a chair at the kitchen island Porthos went to the cabinets. Out of the corner of his eye he noted the drumming fingers, the jiggling knee and couldn't keep a smile off his face. An excited Aramis was normal, a jittery Aramis was manageable but it was when the man stilled that was a warning sign; that was Aramis in sniper mode.

Porthos set a glass of warm milk before his friend and was met with surprised, rounded eyes.

"You finish that while I get back from the washroom," he said.

"I'm not five years old you know," Aramis offered him a tired glare.

Sitting there in his rocket-ship pajama pants and a hoodie, with arms crossed before his chest and tousled hair falling across his forehead Aramis looked anything but.

"I knew you when you were five and you weren't prone to sulking like this," Porthos rolled his eyes.

Aramis huffed and wriggled in his chair in something akin to weary petulance. But Porthos raised a warning brow and pointed to the glass of milk before he left. When he returned he was pleased to note that the glass was halfway empty and he rounded the kitchen island with a grin.

It faltered when he saw the distant look on his friend's face and a hard lump rose in his throat when he noticed Aramis' right hand wrapped around the point where his neck met his left shoulder, the heel of his palm digging into the collarbone below. He knew of the scar there, it was from the bullet that had nearly claimed his life about two years ago.

In that moment Porthos hated that damned friend of Aramis who had been there in that accursed training assignment and had then abandoned him among murdered comrades. He hated that man like he had never hated before and wished that he had met his end somewhere far away, long before he had made a reappearance in their lives.

Porthos reached across the stone top of the counter and held his friend's free hand. It took a few moments that felt like days until those brown eyes met his, there were lingering shadows there and a hint of fear that had Porthos squeezing the hand in his hold.

"Don't go there," he said.

"It seems that it's the only place I can go to these days," Aramis dropped his head in his hand and knead his temple with his fingers, "Feels like I could have done something more that day."

"You were armed with bloody paintball guns in the face of a small army!" it took a great deal of effort for Porthos to keep his voice low, "you did the best you could 'Mis, you did bloody more than that!"

"But Marsac…"

"Is a deserter," Porthos took hold of his friend's other hand as well; "When that call came –," Porthos shook his head, "it was the last thing we could have imagined – it was supposed to be a freakin training exercise after all – and then they weren't even sure –"

Porthos' eyes inadvertently flew to the barely visible scar near his friend's hairline.

"They brought you back and they weren't even sure if you'll wake up again. He could have done something for you 'Mis; that man just left you there to die."

His friend's chin dropped to his chest, his hair falling over his face to hide his eyes.

"I know, I saw…" the confession was just above a whisper, "I saw…"

Porthos drew in a sharp breath, he had not expected that. They had always assumed that their friend's memory had blanked out the trauma. They knew that there were flashes and snippets that plagued Aramis but had always assumed them to be about the pain and the sheer brutality of the event he had experienced.

"I see him Porthos, I see him walking away. He was my friend and I – I called after him – I think I did," Aramis pulled a hand free from Porthos' grip and clutched at the side of head, his eyes roamed the cabinets behind his friend before they focused back on Porthos, "He must have thought me dead. Or maybe he didn't hear me; or I might have just imagined it all?"

The hint of a question in the end of his voice, skewered with twisted hope was enough for Porthos to loop an arm around his friend's shoulders and pull him into an embrace over the counter. If ever that Marsac crossed his path Porthos vowed to give him the beating of a lifetime.

* * *

When Athos made it to the kitchen, pale sunlight was already filtering through the windows. His eyes met Porthos' and he tilted his head in the direction of their friend, who was asleep with his face pressed onto his arms that were crossed over the counter. Porthos raised two fingers as an answer to his silent inquiry and Athos did the calculation in his head, coming to the conclusion that this time Aramis had been awake for thirty nine hours.

Sniffing the sweat aroma of Porthos' cupcakes, he quietly took his place beside Aramis and leaned onto the counter to catch what their youngest was up to. On the other side of their sleeping friend, d'Artagnan was piping the sunny yellow topping over the baked goods, his brows knitted together and tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. Beside him was a trey full of earlier attempts and each one a small, sticky disaster.

Finished with the one he was currently endeavoring over, d'Artagnan held it up gently for Porthos' inspection and the big man smiled proudly at the rather sloppy presentation. Athos rolled his eyes at the reciprocated grin on the younger face and mused that had d'Artagnan actually been a puppy his tail would be thumping with excitement by now.

His thoughts were cut off when Aramis sat up with a harsh jerk. Athos grabbed his arm to keep him from toppling back and saw d'Artagnan doing the same on the other side. Their friend leaned forwards and placing his elbows on the counter dropped his head in his hands. No one said a word as he rubbed his hands through his hair, down his face and finally looked up at Porthos.

"How long?" he asked.

"Two hours," Porthos said.

"That's a record," Aramis offered a wry smile.

"It's Saturday, I'm sure you can do better than two hours of sleep." Athos shrugged.

"Are you trying to challenge me into sleeping?"

"I'd suggest counting the sheep but you'll likely stay up setting an obstacle course for them," said Athos.

Aramis grinned at and tipped him an imaginary hat before gratefully accepting the cupcake d'Artagnan offered him. Athos watched him tease the younger man over his culinary achievement and turned to Porthos.

"Any news?" he asked quietly.

Porthos had offered to use his contacts in the Court of Miracles to confirm if Marsac was back in the area; Aramis had been sure it was him who had taken out Labarge and he had not been pleased to see Porthos get in touch again with the people of the Court. He had dragged out a hurting Porthos so many times from their pop-up brawls that neither of his friends could fault him for the distaste.

"Nothing yet," Porthos said.

Athos saw Aramis stiffen beside him and bit back a sigh. The argument was getting old and with the tension coiled tight in his friend he was sure that the explosion, when it'll happen, would be spectacular. Still he couldn't back down; he refused to let Aramis suffer anymore because of that man.

"As soon as we have proof, we'll inform the authorities," Athos said.

" **We** don't have to do anything, I'll handle it," Aramis didn't miss a beat.

"You'll let him walk and become an accessory to his crime?"

"He is my friend,"

"He is a coward and a deserter,"

"You don't know what he saw there Athos; of course it shook him." Aramis dropped his head in his hands again, his knuckles turning white against dark locks as he pressed his fingertips into his scalp, "I don't – I can't –" he shook his head, "I'll talk to him."

And just like that Athos looked away; he hated the pain this was causing his brother. He knew better than anyone how much Aramis valued a friendship and he knew that despite his family history his friend was a good man, a good soldier. These divided loyalties were silently tearing his friend apart.

"So… yesterday I brought most of my stuff over and there's something I wanted to show you Aramis," d'Artagnan hopped off his chair and grabbed his friend by the shoulder, "Come on, it's right up your alley."

Athos watched from the corner of his eye as their youngest all but dragged their friend out of the kitchen and turned a deliberately impassive face to Porthos. The big man had his hands on his hips and such a look of disapproval on his face that for a second Athos was reminded of Mrs. Du Vallon.

"You had to push him," Porthos shook his head.

Athos let his shoulders drop and crossed his arms over the counter. He wrapped his fingers around the mug of coffee Porthos had set for him and stared into the dark liquid in search for words. The fear in his gut needed to be vocalized before it ate him up from the inside.

"If you get any hint of that man's whereabouts I want you to come to me first," Athos looked his friend in the eye, "I'll turn in Marsac behind Aramis' back if I have to."

"I won't stop you from turning the man in but Aramis deserves some closure."

"Marsac is a deserter Porthos and you know Aramis," Athos arched a brow in challenge, "He's a wild card if it comes down to his loyalties between his friend and his country."

He saw the moment Porthos realized the magnitude of trouble their friend could find himself in and the two shared a decisive nod. It was sometimes later that they followed the delighted voices into the lounge. Aramis and d'Artagnan were sitting cross-legged on the floor with a long rectangular glass case between them. Both were too wrapped up in the object of their interest to register the presence of the two men until they were peering over their bent heads.

"It's an original 16th century musket; you two have to see this," Aramis grabbed Porthos by the hand and pulled him down.

Athos found himself dragged down by the big man's hold on his arm. Their youngest gave a preening sort of a smile and used his sleeve to clean an invisible smudge from the glass case within his reach.

"It's been in the family for generations," he said, "Dad got it set in this case just a few days before he – it's the one thing I kept from my old life."

"Looks like you've kept it well my friend, it seems like I could just load it up and fire," Aramis grinned.

"There's a plaque on it," Porthos squinted to get a better look at the dull silver strip that stretched from the breach of the musket and ran the length of its barrel bands, "What does it say?"

"Le vaillant Gascon, Mousquetaire du Roi;" d'Artagnan recited from memory as he smiled and leaned back against the wall, a wistful look in his eyes. "I used to sit and stare at it for hours when I was younger, dreaming up the wildest stories you could imagine." He said.

Athos could see it in his mind's eye, a spindly little boy with big dark eyes clasping his hands behind his back to keep from touching the family heirloom. Yet the sharp mind taking in every inch of detail it could from sight alone. A smile touched the corner of his lips as Athos imagined the boy reenacting those wild tales across the house, leaving a worried and exasperated father in his wake.

The ringing of his mobile phone startled everyone. Athos stared at Detective Inspector Leon's name blinking on the small screen and answered the call with a frown.

* * *

It started with a hitch in his breathing, a skip of a heartbeat, a flip in his stomach. The corner of his eye twitched, his brows knitted together and a frown creased his face. Beads of sweat popped up along his hairline as he pressed his head deeper into the cushion to escape, to burrow back into the blissful darkness…

… _.white, crisp freezing white, flashes before his eyes. It sways, swings, side to side cradled between the black edging his vision. He swallows and blinks, reaches out and presses his hand against the nearest solid surface. He can feel the rough bark of a tree through his gloves. The sloshing world settles a fraction and the ringing in his ears gives way to a voice._

" _Damnit Aramis stop!"_

 _He looks for the familiar face and swallows again as the entire world swings._

" _M'sac?"_

" _Stay quite you idiot,"_

 _The side of his face feels sticky and frozen; he raises a hand to touch it but the man beside him slaps it away._

" _I got it," his friend whispers, "just stay quiet."_

" _W' gotta h'lp 'em,"_

" _With what?"_

 _He leans his weight against the tree and with his other hand fumbles with the side of his pant leg. Closing his eyes against the gut churning swirling he reaches for the knife strapped to his lower leg. With a shaky hand he pulls it out and raises it for his friend to see._

" _There's no one left to help Aramis,"_

 _Twenty men dead, murdered, slaughtered, his jaw clenches to keep down the rising bile._

 _Twenty friends gone._

" _Th'n w' t'ke a few d'wn w'th us,"_

 _The grin he sees is manic and he knows it's a reflection of his own. They have seen their friends with their throats slit open, warm dark red soaking their sleeping bags; they have watched their friends cut down and shot, their blood splattering across the white cover of snow and pooling hot under rapidly cooling bodies; and now the enemy was turning back._

 _Aramis couldn't watch them leave while he hid in the trees…_

… His eyes shot open with a gasp pressed back against pursed lips; instead he exhaled through his nose. Rapidly blinking away moisture Aramis stared at the lounge ceiling and wiped a sleeve across his forehead. The familiar lumps of the sofa dug into his back and he clenched his hands in the quilt someone had draped over him.

Slowly, gradually the fine tremors coursing through his body eased out.

Releasing his grip on the duvet he sat up and cast a look around. The television was set on the news channel, sound dipped to a low drone and the lights were dimmed. He remembered sitting down for a movie with Porthos and d'Artagnan but found neither of his friends in sight.

From down the corridor a low murmur reached him, followed by a soft bang then muffled cursing. It pulled a smile on his face and Aramis patted the sofa for his mobile phone. Noting the time on its screen he realized that he had slept full four hours. He was just congratulating himself over it when the mobile phone in his hand buzzed.

/Meet me outside of the Pizza Bites in an hour/

Aramis frowned at the vague message and scrolled up to read the number he didn't recognize. He knew the shop; it was one of those small family businesses that prided itself of its sole gourmet shop. While they didn't deliver he had often eaten at the place even went there a few time with Marsac.

"Marsac," Aramis' eyes widened.

He was on his feet and about to call his friends when he paused. Informing Athos was out of question, d'Artagnan too, the boy had been inches away from being the man's target after all.

"Porthos," Aramis nodded to himself, "Porthos will understand."

He padded down the corridor, his feet slowing as the easy chatter of his friends flowed out to greet him.

"…still, he was once friends with Aramis," d'Artagnan was saying.

"Don't care, that man deserves no leniency, he left a wounded comrade behind –" Porthos stopped abruptly at the sight of Aramis standing in the doorway.

Something must have showed on his face because Aramis saw his friend's eyes soften. Porthos stood up from where he was sharing a plate of sandwiches with their youngest and approached him like he was a skittish horse.

"I'm sorry 'Mis but you know I hate that man," he said.

He nodded as his fingers curled tight around his mobile phone. Aramis shrugged a shoulder and stole a sandwich from his friend's plate. Taking a bite he chewed and swallowed, not really tasting it. He made a face nonetheless.

"How about a pizza?" he asked, "the special kind."

"We can order in," d'Artagnan spoke up from where he sat on the newly set bed.

"Pizza Bites don't deliver. I'll go and get one,"

"Athos will be back soon, we can ask him to pick it up on the way," their youngest offered.

Aramis took another bite of the sandwich, pretending to think it over.

"I think I could do with some fresh air," he shook his head, "I'll be back soon."

He didn't wait for them to argue and turned on his heels. Five minutes later Aramis was buttoning up his coat and walking out of their building.

* * *

The man sitting opposite him was one he had never imagined seeing again. Athos took in his disheveled state and leaned forwards on the cool metal table. His movement beckoned the rise of bloodshot eyes. Emile Bonnaire was a picture of defeat before him.

"The Detective says that you wanted to talk to me," Athos said, "that you'll confess to all your crimes if I came down here to listen."

The man nodded slowly.

"Well?"

"She – my wife –" Bonnaire stuttered and paused before he gathered his bearings, "She was shot, through the eye yesterday."

It took an effort for Athos to keep his face blank as he marked another kill in Marsac's log.

"She was helping her –"

"Who?"

"M'Lady Anne,"

Athos sucked in a breath and sat back, torn between asking after her and putting a distance between himself and that name. His reaction however was lost on Bonnaire. The man simply nodded and went on.

"I dunno what they were working on, but now my Maria is dead." He said, "When I wanted to turn myself in M'Lady asked me to do one last job."

Athos feared to ask what that was but his silence worked neither as a prompt nor as an inhibitor. Bonnaire seemed stuck on another plane, one that was grief and despair that Athos could very well relate to.

"She said to give you a message," he reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture. Placing it face up he slid it towards Athos, "This is Cluzet; she said if you need to find the Cardinal he'll lead you to him. And she said to look out for d'Artagnan, the boy has the key."

"What key?" Athos couldn't keep from asking.

Bonnaire shrugged.

"What key?"

"I dunno," the man shook his head and pulled out a strip of paper, "Could you do me a favor?" he asked.

Athos numbly took the piece of paper he handed over, there was a list of numbers on it but for the life of him Athos couldn't decipher it. He raised a questioning brow and the man before him heaved a sigh.

"Give that to Meunier, he has men everywhere even in prison, and I don't want trouble in there." He said.

Athos left the room with more questions than he had entered it with. As his feet carried him out of the building his mind raced miles ahead and his ex-wife's interest in his young friend settled as a thick knot in his stomach.

* * *

Aramis paid the taxi driver and got out of the car. He scanned the shoppers going about in the cold Saturday afternoon and suppressed the shiver that went down his spine. Something about this entire meeting was putting him on the edge and the fact that he couldn't spot Marsac was only adding to his nerves.

He was still on the other side of the road when he saw her. Adele Bessette was standing outside of Pizza Bites, her back towards him as she stared at the shop window. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other wondering if he had misread it all as he waited for the signal to cross the road.

"Red?" He called as he reached the pavement.

"Aramis," the woman turned around; he saw the curl of a smile, saw the relief flash in those green eyes and then he heard a snick in the air.

Adele Bessette fell.

The store's window shattered behind her, someone screamed as hurried footfalls beat against the sidewalk, someone bumped into him and he stumbled forwards, fingers going to the tiny warm specks on his face.

But then he couldn't move ahead anymore. There were hands on his arms and a hold across his chest. Something piercing stung in his neck and Aramis was falling into darkness.

* * *

When Athos pushed open the front door of the flat it was already early evening. Meunier had been happy to receive the numbers Bonnaire had sent him, happy enough to tell Athos that no he didn't know Anne de La Fere but he did know a M'Lady. Athos was still wondering what his wife had been searching for when she had come to Meunier looking for the Bonnaires years ago.

"Hey, you're back! So what'd Leon want?" d'Artagnan turned around from where he sat on the sofa, surfing the channels.

"It was Bonnaire," Athos wondered if he should tell the boy about M'Lady's warning.

His thoughts were cut off by the sight of Porthos coming out of his room, his mobile phone stuck against his ear and a scowl on his face. He disconnected the call and turned to Athos.

"Have you heard from Aramis at all this afternoon?" he asked.

Athos eyes widened imperceptibly, that wasn't the question he was expecting. He shook his head slowly only to have his friend mutter a curse and press his phone back to his ear. As Porthos walked the length of the hallway Athos perched on the arm of the sofa while their youngest turned back to the television.

"Uh guys…?" d'Artagnan didn't look away from the screen even as he spoke, "You have to see this."

Athos turned to watch the newscaster talk about a shooting near some pizza shop, he had no idea why that was important but the sharp breath from Porthos had his own heart racing. The big man's wide eyes were fixed on the screen as he dialed the call again.

"Come on Aramis answer the damned call,"

Somewhere in a clear plastic bag marked as evidence by the police, a mobile phone was vibrating.

* * *

 **THANK YOU all who read, follow and favorite this story. Those of you who take the time to leave me reviews THANK YOU because you are the reason this story has come this far. And the Guests who leave me reviews, since I can't thank you personally just wanted to let you know that your encouragement is much much much appreciated.**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: THANK YOU EVERYONE! I cannot believe it! 100+ reviews! Thank you, thank you, you awesome people. Triple digits, I'm speechless every time I see the number. But let me tell you, your support has practically carried this story forward. Your encouragement is invaluable. Thank you so much every one!**

 **Now this story is turning a bit darker, so here's to hoping that it doesn't disappoint you all.**

 **WARNING:** **Violence, blood and torture. I'm going to rate this chapter M**

* * *

Ninety five minutes, ninety five minutes since they've caught the news and Aramis was still not answering the call. With each tick of a second the false assurances were slipping out of his mind and Porthos was a tick away from throwing his mobile phone against the wall.

The hallway in their flat wasn't that long but it seemed to stretch and before his eyes the walls changed colour until they were lined pale green, the fluorescent lights overhead gleamed over the high metal trolley on his right, to his left was an empty stretcher and at the end of the hallway were the double doors they could not cross; and there on the floor sat Athos with his back against the wall and his head in his hands. Porthos came to an abrupt halt in his trek up and down the corridor.

"Hey! Porthos look at me. Look. At. Me," there were hands wrapped around his collar and they were shaking him, "this isn't like that. No; look at me, that's not happening again."

He gave a sharp nod and closing his eyes, Porthos let out a ragged breath. Athos jerked him close until the top of their foreheads bumped into each other and they took a few seconds to draw deep the strength of their brotherhood.

"Not happening again," Porthos repeated as they parted and he fortified himself against the onslaught of memories that came of that particular phone call and the long vigil that came for them after SAVOY.

"They're saying the victim was a woman," d'Artagnan came up from behind Athos, "No one else was even wounded."

Porthos felt relieved and then instantly guilty for it.

"You think he went for a run?" Athos mused.

"He would go for a long one with all this going on but he picks up our calls at least," Porthos shook his head.

"Maybe he saw what happened and decided to help in some way?" d'Artagnan offered.

Porthos was about to suggest to go down at the scene and check it out when the knock on the main door brought all their thoughts to a stop. He bounded up to the door in record time and pulled it open with teetering hope. His gaze fell on the man and he frowned.

"Captain?"

Captain Treville stepped aside to usher in the young woman from behind him before crossing the threshold as well. As the other two came up beside him, Porthos watched Ms. Ostair glance about her surroundings as though searching for something.

"Where's Aramis?" Captain Treville asked.

"We're not sure," Porthos said, "What's the matter Captain?"

"This," the man thrust a mobile phone in his hand, "I want to know what he's been up to."

Porthos squinted at the message that asked for a meeting at the pizza shop where the shooting had happened.

"Ms. Ostair came down to the office because she had heard about Adele Bessette's death,"

"Wait, Red died? When? How?" d'Artagnan frowned.

"Shot down" said the Captain, "outside of this pizza shop after she asked Ms. Ostair to send this message to this number, Aramis' number."

"She was worried," the woman spoke up, "scared even, and she said that she couldn't risk this message from her own number; that he could know if she did."

"Who would know?" Captain Treville asked.

Ms. Ostair shrugged but it was Athos who spoke up.

"Richelieu," he said with a shake of his head, "I can't believe his hunch was right."

Porthos saw the quizzical look on the Captain's face and clarified.

"Aramis thought Richelieu was in contact with the Cardinal, he had asked Adele to look into it during the case of baby Henry," he explained, "Adele must have found something."

"The Cardinal?" Treville frowned, "the man behind Vadim and Gaudet?"

"Makes sense," d'Artagnan nodded, "I found The Cardinal's card in my father's belongings that I collected from the corner, he is the man behind my father's murder and as soon as I refused to take the life of the man who had done the deed, he had Labarge shot down. He contacted Gaudet and Vadim through mobile phones but Gaudet must have seen something so he's dead and now Adele looked into it so she was murdered too. He's tying up any loose ends that may lead to him."

"But now we have Richelieu," Athos said.

"And Marsac," Porthos reminded them, "He's working for the Cardinal too."

"He murdered Labarge and probably Adele," said d'Artagnan.

"And Maria Bonnaire," Athos added.

Porthos raised a questioning brow but was sidetracked by the Captain who was shaking his head with a deep frown etched on his face. It was obvious that their superior was still at loss about the whole situation. It irked the big man that they were standing around discussing theories when they should be out there tracking down their brother. Who knew what situation had Aramis found himself in all this.

"Marsac was Aramis' friend back in the day," Athos told Treville, "He's the only other survivor of SAVOY."

Porthos watched the colour leech from the older man' face and he raised a hand to steady him just in case. Treville waved off his help and sat down on the arm of the sofa, wiping a hand down his face. The Captain had been with them during that dark week, he had been the one to force them to eat and sleep and keep up some semblance of human life while Aramis had been in a coma.

"If Richelieu is in contact with the Cardinal he could be a threat to Mr. Bourbon and Ms. Ostair," Athos was saying, "We don't know what his purpose is to form an alliance with this Cardinal."

"I'll post a guard," Treville said.

"If he gets suspicious he could lash out," Porthos warned.

"I'll be discreet, you needn't worry Ms. Ostair." Treville assured the woman.

"We can't just bring him in to question about the Cardinal can we?" d'Artagnan huffed.

"I may have another source that could lead us to the Cardinal," Athos spoke up.

Before Porthos could ask exactly what this lead was a sharp rap on the front door stopped him. D'Artagnan being the closest opened it without permeable and Porthos found himself moving forwards without thought. The slim face of Detective Inspector Leon was drawn in veiled concern. His eyes went from one man to the other as the policeman behind him shuffled back a bit.

"Gentlemen, I'm afraid I have some bad news," he said.

* * *

 _Red hair framed her face._

 _A sound of relief in his name._

 _Red awning overhead._

 _A deafening shatter of a window._

 _Red pooling on the side walk._

 _Screams._

 _Red spots on his face._

 _Screams and people running._

 _Red steaming in snow._

 _Gurgling of a departing soul._

 _Red haze in his vision._

 _The ringing in his ears._

 _Red drops in his wake._

 _A friendly voice by his side._

 _Red at the edge of his dagger._

 _A sound of desperation in his name._

 _Red exploding his world in pain._

 _Red warmth spreading under him._

 _Red dripping down his fingers._

 _His voice a whisper and then silence..._

The chair screeched and creaked as he woke up struggling, the ropes tightening and cutting into his skin. Aramis blinked and shook his head to clear the darkness that still enveloped him, although the rest of his senses told him that he was awake. A slight rustle spoke of the thick bag around his head, the cold on his skin marked the lack of clothes above his waist; his shoes and socks were missing too.

He traced his fingers over the ropes that held his hands behind his back and tugged against the bindings that pinned his legs to the chair.

His training helped him calm the escalating beat of his heart and Aramis stilled in the chair, taking account of his surroundings. The floor under his feet was cold and hard, the texture not really grainy but not smooth either, there was the unmistakable sound of wind over water and there, a few paces behind him was a man; the sound of his breathing coming clearly through Aramis' sharpened hearing. He picked up on the man shifting his weight on his feet and cocked his head to the side as he listened closely to the muffled sound of approaching footsteps; the gait was not Marsac's.

A door opened and closed behind him and Aramis counted another person with the one who approached him.

"I see you're awake," said a man's voice.

A stale odor of cigarettes followed the steps that circled around him.

"Excellent observation skills," Aramis drawled.

He tested the rope bound tight around his wrists when he felt the man's presence before him. The figure loomed nearer and the cigarette smoke invaded the bag around his head. Aramis turned his head to the side and tried not to cough.

"Ever heard of a breath mint?" he asked.

The man pulled back with a snicker and the sharpening smell of the smoke was his only warning before white hot, burning pain pierced his shoulder. Aramis grit his teeth to keep from screaming himself hoarse at the sizzling agony of the cigarette extinguishing against his skin.

"Not very talkative now, are you Rene?"

Swallowing thickly against the pain and the bile rising up to his throat he tried to spot the voice in his memory. But Aramis was already weary of the chance that it could be easily one of the many enemies of his father whom he had never met.

"Give me a minute Chimney-face," he ground out.

A snick of a lighter, the sound of an exaggerated inhale and then another blistering stab into his shoulder wiped out the thoughts he was dredging up to coherence. It took all of Aramis' will to keep from crying out as the man twisted the cigarette to put it out completely.

His hands pulled against the ropes, fingers clenching and unclenching reflexively and Aramis decided that he had had enough. There were three men in the room with him and he knew he could take them out easily; he just needed to time his escape perfectly.

"Let's see if you'll behave now," said the man.

Aramis grabbed his left hand in his right behind him and lifted his face in the direction of the voice, although he couldn't see his captor.

"Don't hold your breath," he said.

"I'll make you fall in line sooner than you think,"

"Is that a challenge I hear?"

Somewhere in the back of his mind Aramis could see Athos grounding his teeth at his tactics. He tried not to let his thoughts stray to that; he couldn't imagine how worried his brothers would be by now.

The snick of a lighter brought his thoughts sharply back to the present.

"You're lucky the boss wants you alive d'Herblay," said the man

"And like a good little dog you do all that the boss says?"

This time he was prepared for the ring of fire on his skin, blazing up in pain next to the other two. With a sharp gasp Aramis pressed against the joint in his left hand and by the time his tormentor pulled back the defused cigarette, he had dislocated his own thumb. The darkness around him seemed to ripple and twang with his pain as his entire body trembled and Aramis let his head fall forward on his chest.

"What a waste of good cigarettes," the voice neared and a hand touched his face to lift it.

In a flash Aramis grabbed the man by the throat and lifting himself, chair and all, he rammed into the man behind him, smashing the chair in the process. A lightening strike of his left hand found the third man's neck and even before the man had hit the ground Aramis was pulling the bag from over his head.

He squinted a bit in the sudden light but his right hand remained wrapped around the throat of the man choking and gasping in his hold. Aramis wiped at his eyes with his bruised left hand and frowned at the man falling limp in his grip. He had never seen this face before.

He turned around at the sound of the door opening and the men spilled in like ants. There were hands grabbing him and bringing him down to his knees even as he tried to fight his way through. Something pungent and damp pressed against his nose and Aramis' world grayed instantly.

"What the hell Gontard? I told you to keep him under until we reach the –"

As his consciousness snuffed out, the last thought Aramis had was that he had heard this voice somewhere.

* * *

It didn't give much of a clue no matter how many times he watched it, but it squeezed his heart every single time he saw Aramis slump in the hold of the men who had taken him. Athos glanced aside towards d'Artagnan where the boy was searching for the man named Cluzet. If the Cardinal had ordered the murder of Adele and if it were his men who had taken Aramis then Athos was not above to try any tactic offered to him. He was only thankful that Leon had offered to help them and prayed silently that Anne hadn't lied to him about Cluzet leading them to the Cardinal.

" 'tis like he didn't even register them," Porthos sighed.

"What would the Cardinal want him for?" Athos stopped the video.

Leon had showed them the footage that had been caught on the street camera. The police were looking for the van that the men had used to take their friend but so far there were no definitive leads. The camera had only caught a partial view of the license plate.

"You think Adele could have hinted his involvement,"

"But she was cautious enough not to use her own number to contact Aramis," Athos shook his head, "she wouldn't have given away her purpose."

"OK, I think this is it!" d'Artagnan stood up with enough force to make the swivel chair roll back quite some distance. "This picture you gave me is dated about two decades old right?" he pointed to the numbers at the corner of the picture, "So I used my software to age this man here and I crossed check it with the lists of suspects for the last twenty five years… and you have no idea what I'm saying."

Athos and Porthos shared a look. Their youngest rolled his eyes and plucked at the page that the printer had spit out. He waved it before their faces like a victory flag.

"Alright, Simon Cluzet is the best chance of being our man."

"He was in the old suspects lists?" Athos asked.

"Against a long list of white collar crimes and likely to be involved in a number of unpleasant blood shedding activities," nodded the boy, "never convicted though."

"We'll have to track him down," Porthos took the printout from the younger man.

D'Artagnan grinned and pointed at the page in smug satisfaction.

"I have his latest address right here."

Athos couldn't hold back the proud smile that broke through on his face as Porthos grinned and thumped the boy on the back.

"Well done pup!" he said.

* * *

… _his dagger is a familiar weight in his grip, concussed as he is he still moves like water through the cover of trees and grabs the first enemy in his reach, an arm across his mouth as he slice opens his throat. He turns and knocks away the gun pointing at him, kicks another man in the knee before a diagonal slash across the chest drops the first man and he buries the dagger hilt deep in the other one._

 _Mind set and locked on a single path there is no sound or wasted movement, it's a silent lethal dance as he pulls away from one dead target onto the next; cleaving through flesh and snapping bones as he carves a path to the leader of this raid._

 _Still there are too many; he cuts open a man from naval to throat and arcs his blade across the leader's back in a single motion. The man swings back with the butt of his gun which impacts against the already stained patch near Aramis' hairline. He rocks to the side and ends up on his knees as sweat and blood trickle anew in his vision._

 _The man grabs the front of his shirt and distantly Aramis hears someone shout his name._

 _The smirk of the man is visible through his ski mask but Aramis cannot look away from the cold blue stare fixed on him._

 _The man presses his gun near the point where his shoulder meets his neck and leans forward. There are words, whispered in his ear and lost in the memory, there is a voice latching to a forgotten piece of information, one that the black stretches in his mind would not let go…_

…The world was in motion as he tried to break the surface of the cloying recesses of unconsciousness. Lying on his side with a nauseating drone thrumming in his head there was no room left for sensible decisions left. With an effort he forced his legs to move and kicked out at the small confines he was in. He kicked again at the point where he had felt something give against his heel.

His strength waned quickly and as he succumbed to the darkness with one last effort, he thought he could feel the cold air streaming in from somewhere by his feet.

* * *

Night had set in completely by the time the three of them found themselves in the company of Simon Cluzet. The modest, whitewashed double storey home, tucked in a long line of similar ones was hardly conspicuous and d'Artagnan was having second thoughts about his discovery. The flower patterned wallpaper and overstuffed furniture wasn't helping either, nor was the fact that the old man with a long white beard and even longer white hair reminded him of beloved characters from the two favorite stories of his childhood.

D'Artagnan chose to stay behind the other two, introducing himself only as Charles and letting his friends take the lead in questioning. He wondered how Cluzet knew the Cardinal since the man hadn't denied the knowledge when Athos had brought it up.

"I'm afraid I can't help you in the matter," said the man as he took a seat opposite them, "but I can tell you this, kidnapping is not really shall we say….taste of a Cardinal."

"And how would you know what the Cardinal prefers?" Athos asked.

"Because I held the post once," Cluzet grinned, "I'm retired now."

If Athos and Porthos were fazed by the information they didn't show it, d'Artagnan tried to copy their nonchalance but his curiosity got the better of him.

"It's a position?" he frowned.

"A very prestigious one,"

"That's why I was told that you could help," Athos said more to himself then to the others.

"I can not disclose privileged information, there are rules I must still abide."

Porthos crossed his arms before his chest and shifted a bit closer from where he stood to the side. The big man cut an imposing figure and with worry fueling his anger, his voice when he spoke was steeped in contempt.

"Your privileged information could help us find the man your successor has captured." He said.

Cluzet shook his head and wiped a hand over his beard.

"I don't think the Cardinal would order such a thing,"

Athos got to his feet and d'Artagnan hurried after him.

"We're wasting our time gentlemen," said Athos, "you might have better luck of finding him from behind a computer d'Art."

He was about to follow out his friends when d'Artagnan felt the grip on his arm, it was surprisingly strong given the frail hand that held him. He saw the blue eyes sharpen and pierce through him. A smug grin came onto the old face and Cluzet didn't even seem to consider the other two men who had turned back to them.

"What'd you say your name was?" Cluzet asked.

"And why is that of an interest to you?" Athos appeared at his shoulder and d'Artagnan felt Porthos' large hand on his other shoulder as he firmly pulled him out of the man's grip.

"Are you a d'Artagnan?" Cluzet asked, "Did you know an Alexander d'Artagnan?"

Porthos stepped in front of him before d'Artagnan could even think of a reply and Athos' smooth tone held a sharp edge.

"I'm afraid it's privileged information," he said, "we're leaving."

Porthos kept him in an arm's reach even as he pulled d'Artagnan before him. As much as it warmed his heart to see these two sheltering him d'Artagnan was still hesitant to leave without an explanation. He felt the big man nudge him slightly in the back.

"C'mon mate, Aramis is still out there." He said.

Cluzet was on his feet with an expletive that d'Artagnan would never have imagined him to use. With a speed that belied his age he came to stand before Athos.

"This friend of yours that's been kidnapped is it Aramis?" he asked, "Is it Rene d'Herblay the Fourth?"

"What if it is?"

"Damnit all it is that princeling," Cluzet ran a hand through his hair, "No I'm absolutely sure the Cardinal didn't kidnap your friend and if he was ordered to then you can tear apart the world and you still won't find that man."

He never noticed when Porthos left his side but d'Artagnan found himself gaping at his friend who had caught the old man by the front of his shirt and lifted him clear off of the floor. He gave Cluzet a shake and forced the man to meet his dark eyes.

"Explain," he growled.

"I concur," Athos said.

Cluzet looked from one man to the other and his shoulders slumped. He nodded and wordlessly demanded to be set down. Even from the distance d'Artagnan could feel the reluctance with which Porthos complied.

"The Cardinal is the man who oversees the less pleasant aspects of the d'Herblay affairs," Cluzet said, "If Senior had ordered his son to be grabbed off the street only then could this be the Cardinal's work, and if it is. Like I said, you won't be able to find him."

"You let us decide if we can find him or not," Athos said, "Now who is the Cardinal after your retirement."

"Don't you get it? I've already said too much," Cluzet slunk back to sit on the sofa, "there is only so much my insurance could save me from."

It clicked in his mind like a neat sequence of a new program, the functions snapping perfectly into place in the flow chart of an algorithm. He looked to the old man and asked the question that he already knew the answer to.

"You didn't retire but escaped from d'Herblay Senior didn't you?"

"When I was the Cardinal, the Security Head of the d'Herblay house had decided to disclose a sensitive matter he had been privy to. I was asked to take care of him," Cluzet said, "I did that but I made a mistake, the man wasn't alone that day, he had his grandson with him. It was an honest mistake and it wouldn't have been an issue if the father of that boy hadn't been so damn stubborn. He was bent on revenge and wouldn't be easily taken care of you see. So at the end of it all, I've set this man on the trail of d'Herblay and I had even failed to retrieve the information the old Head of Security was going to pass on."

Cluzet's gaze fixed on to d'Artagnan as a calculating almost hungry look flashed in the blue eyes narrowed at him, "It was said that this Head of Security had handed over the information to a man called Alexander d'Artagnan." He said.

Athos shifted to block the man's view and d'Artagnan let out the breath he hadn't realized he had held back. His mind spun with the information and he was immensely grateful for Porthos' grip on his arm.

"So they just let you go?" the big man quirked a brow.

"This wasn't the first job I had done for him," Cluzet's face hardened, the sharp edges stiffened his features in a harsh visage, "I've spilled a lot of blood for him and I kept a records of his orders. That's my insurance, if they come for me; if I die in some well orchestrated accident my associate will take those records to the police and the media."

"But you still won't tell us who the new Cardinal is," it wasn't a question that Athos asked.

Cluzet's grin was an eager wriggly thing that made d'Artagnan's skin crawl.

"I would if you let me talk to your friend here," Cluzet nodded towards him.

It happened in a blink; d'Artagnan wouldn't have believed that it had happened if he hadn't seen the bloody lip on Cluzet's face and Athos shaking out his fist.

"Good night Mr. Cluzet," he said and they followed him out without a word.

* * *

He came around with a snap; quite literally. With bleary eyes he stared at the figure standing on a chair to his left, who still gripped his left hand. Muddling through the aftershocks of pain Aramis realized that his thumb had just been put back in place. His eyes tracked his hand that was tied over his head stretched to one side while his right was stretched up and away on the right. The old trick won't work here his sluggish mind supplied.

Another snap in his joint and Aramis gasped.

"Just checking," rasped the man.

Right, Chimney-face, Gontard, Aramis pushed his brain to work as the pulsing ache from his hand throbbed down his arm and up in his head. His thumb was dislocated again.

"Wouldn't want you trying to escape again," the man checked the ropes.

Then a pull and a shift and Aramis clenched his jaw tight, he could feel the bruising down to his bone. Deep in his heart he prayed that it wouldn't leave a lasting damage, steady hands were what all his skills depended on.

"My boss wasn't happy you see free," Gontard snarled and flicked at the swollen joint.

Aramis was sure he would have fallen on his knees had the ropes allowed him to; so he was morbidly thankful that he couldn't bend his knees fully without dislocating his shoulders. His captor stepped down from the chair and regarded him with a sneer.

"Since you'll be spending the night here I'd advise you to think about the key, the boss would like to know where you've hidden it."

"What key?" he squinted.

"Let the drug wear off and I'll come by later to jog your memory," Gontard sneered, "you're back home now Rene, maybe that'll help you to remember."

He frowned as the man walked around him and away. Aramis waited until his footsteps had silenced before he twisted his neck to look around his new prison. He was facing a wall but in the dim orange glow from somewhere behind him he could see the shelves filled with dark wine bottles to his side and on his left he could make out the dark silhouettes of barrels.

It was not the cold dusty floor under his bare feet that made him shiver, but the fact that he knew this cellar. Aramis knew he was back at The Manor.

The passageways of this building were imprinted in his mind and haunted by a fear he had learned to suppress long ago. In the rooms here lurked a monster that had been all too real, a monster whose presence he still felt at his heels.

Almost involuntarily Aramis struggled against the ropes, pulling and wriggling until he was out of breath. Gasping a little he let his torn wrists take his weight, using the pain to focus his mind back to the present. He could not allow his life in this place to dominate his thoughts, he had to pull away from the echo in his mind of the familiar calm gait echoing that more often than not followed the sting of leather, and he had to ignore the memory of the lingering smell of that special wine that forewarned breaking of more than crystal glasses.

It was in the shape of a toy chest in his mind that he had filled with every dark moment of his childhood and Aramis struggled to keep it latched shut. But being back inside The Manor made the shadows in that toy chest fight harder and stronger.

"C'mon guys, come find me already."

His breath hitched as the whisper escaped him and for a second he was all of four years old again, searching the dark of his mind for solace. Strength came from his most flimsy recollection...

… _a silver laughter of a woman twinkling around him, a flowery scent whirling in bright yellow, a feather light touch and a warm soft press on his forehead._

" _Hush mi Niño, mi_ _rayo de sol…"_

* * *

He shepherded both of them through the door and guided d'Artagnan to the sofa. The boy had been a bit dazed ever since they had left Cluzet; Porthos on the other hand was fuming. They had been told by Leon that the police had tracked the van carrying Aramis down to the docks. They had found evidence of the captors and their friend in one of the warehouses but it seemed that the men have moved on from the place.

"He had been so close! We should have checked out that place, should have gone down there first." Porthos stopped in his aimless trek and moved for the door, "I'll go and see if there are any clues. Aramis could have left some clues for us."

Athos had to physically stop his friend to get him to listen.

"We just combed through the place and I don't think Leon would appreciate us going through it again without permission." He reminded his friend.

"That piece of rope – Athos it had specks of blood all over it."

"I know," Athos suppressed a shudder.

They were deep into the night and nowhere near close to finding their friend. Their search had led them to more questions and Athos glanced back at their youngest, d'Artagnan had been too quite. He nearly jumped when someone rapped onto the front door.

Three pair of eyes widened in surprise.

It was Athos who went ahead and opened it. The man before him had sharp blue eyes and long sandy hair; it took him long minutes to recognize the face he was staring at.

"Athos," nodded Marsac and glanced over his shoulder, "Porthos, and… I think he's the mascot?"

Athos closed his eyes in a resigned sort of a sigh.

Behind him Porthos moved.

* * *

 **mi Niño, mi** **rayo de sol [spanish] = my child, my sunshine (this is google translation people, apologies for any mistakes)**

 **And some characters feel out of character I know, but then this an AU and I had to take a few liberties.**


	14. Chapter 14

He could count on one hand the times in his life when he had been truly angry; yet the raw crimson rage that blanked out his thoughts when he saw the man at the door was a first for Porthos. He vaguely registered Athos stepping aside but then it all disappeared in red vapor.

Sound, movement and time spilled in a blur. Until he felt a hand on his shoulder, firm but not restraining.

A voice skirted around his consciousness.

"I think he's had enough,"

But the monster in the center of his chest couldn't agree.

"A bit more won't hurt,"

"Athos!"

"Relatively speaking,"

"Porthos you can't kill him,"

He couldn't really understand why; not when hate, like a newly discovered creature, nestled in his gut and clawed out to taste this man's blood. The man who had left his brother to die among slaughtered comrades, the man who haunted his brother's nightmares and robbed him of his faith in friendship bit by bit each time when Aramis lingered on him walking away.

"Stop Porthos, please,"

He stilled.

The world came back between his blinking and he felt the cold bare floor under his knees. Porthos looked down at the man he had pinned under him and then at the long young face trying to catch his eyes. Their youngest was worried.

"d'Art?" his croaked out.

"Let him go Porthos,"

Gentle hands pried his fingers out of the other man's shirtfront and from around his throat. Porthos let their young friend pull him off of Marsac. His knees shook and he leaned back against the wall casting a sideways glance towards Athos, who was leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

He looked back to Marsac as the man rolled onto his side, wheezing harshly. There was red staining his chin and when he spat blood Porthos saw a tooth in it. Feeling oddly detached he raised his own slightly trembling fingers to the stinging in his lip.

He hissed when d'Artagnan pressed a wet cloth to his lip and offered him a feeble glare for his efforts.

"You should feel lucky that's the worst that you suffered," said his young friend.

"He was never in danger of getting hurt," Athos spoke up.

"Thank you for your observations, a real help you have been," d'Artagnan snipped as he wrapped Porthos' fingers around the wet cloth and shifting his weight on his feet, regarded the prone figure on the floor. Marsac was still wheezing a little as he pushed himself to sit up and pressed a shaky hand to his profusely bleeding nose.

"I would have stepped in," Athos shrugged a shoulder, "eventually."

He pushed away from the doorjamb and walked over to Marsac. With a hand on the back of his collar he hauled the other man to his feet. Porthos let him half guide half drag Marsac into their flat and dropping his chin to his chest he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. As the rage and hate ebbed, the only thing washed up to the fore of his mind was worry. It made him feel hollow and brittle as his bones ached to find his lost brother and bring him home.

"We'll find him," d'Artagnan gripped his shoulder again; "we'll bring him home."

A dry snort escaped him but Porthos didn't question their youngest's perceptiveness; he hadn't been lying when he had told d'Artagnan that he was one of them.

Porthos nodded and with a deep inhale he pushed away from the wall to follow his friend back inside. In the lounge Athos was perched on the armrest of the chair and the newcomer sat on the sofa. Porthos didn't protest when d'Artagnan offered Marsac another wet cloth and watched with a grim sort of satisfaction as the man winced and hissed while cleaning away the blood on his face.

"Why are you here?" Athos asked.

Pressing the stained cloth to the blood still trickling from his nose Marsac regarded them with a frown.

"I saw it happen, wanted to help." His voice came out thick.

"And how will you do that?"

Marsac tossed the cloth onto the coffee table and stopped just short of touching the bruises on his neck. He cleared his throat and looked from one man to the other; the three of them had unconsciously made a half circle around him, effectively cornering the man.

"Heard people talking that it's the Cardinal's job. I know the man but I can't rescue Aramis on my own."

"You know the Cardinal?" d'Artagnan spoke up.

"I met him,"

"And we're supposed to believe you?" it came out as growl.

That rage that he had thought was spent was coiling in him again, he could feel it tightening between his shoulder blades and he could see it encroaching the periphery of his vision. Porthos was so focused on the fire inside him that it was quite a surprise when Marsac surged to his feet suddenly.

He jabbed a finger in Porthos chest, meeting him glare for glare.

"I don't give a damn if you believe me or not. If your precious feelings are too bruised to think clearly then I'll just have to go on my own."

"Because you're so worried about Aramis?" Porthos sneered.

"You don't have a monopoly on it you know."

"That's a joke of the century," Porthos itched to land another hit on that face, "you're telling me you actually give a damn about what happens to Aramis? You actually care if he's in trouble? You who left him to die?"

"I had to track them down; I had to find out whoever was behind that massacre. I promised myself that day that I'll get to the root of it and end it myself," Marsac scowled at the man, "Aramis would understand that, he and I are alike that way."

That was the last straw, Porthos grabbed the man by the scruff of his shirt and hauling a few inches off the floor he shook him until his teeth chattered.

"Aramis would have never left the side of a dying friend," he growled.

"You're right," Marsac dropped his hands from around Porthos' wrists and his head fell forward until his chin rested on his chest, "They had destroyed all our lines of communication to the base, he wouldn't have survived for long without help and I was a coward. I couldn't bear to watch him fade away, couldn't watch him die. I was too selfish to consider how he'd feel in his last moments."

"They weren't his last moments," Porthos corrected.

His head shot up then.

"No they were not," Marsac affirmed.

There was something in his voice, a breath of a prayer and a promise that was all too familiar. In that face marred with a bruise running from temple to chin and dotted with numerous cuts Porthos saw the flash of genuine emotions that he couldn't name individually.

With a disgusted grunt he let the man go.

"So who is the Cardinal?" Athos asked.

"It's Richelieu, the CEO of Bourbon Empire," Marsac drew a hand through his hair, "I've been taking care of his business personally."

"We saw," d'Artagnan suppressed a shudder.

Porthos couldn't spare his thoughts anymore for Marsac, he had found out the man who was holding his brother captive the only focus now was to get moving. He strode down to his room, took any spare ammunition he kept and grabbed his jacket from the back of the sofa on his way out. He was only stopped in his tracks by Athos' hand on his arm.

"We've lost too much time already," Porthos ground out.

"Yes but we need to act carefully," Athos nodded, "Can we even trust him to be telling us the truth?"

"Guess there's only one way to find out," Porthos shrugged and pulled open the door.

His brows shot up to his hairline at the sight of the man outside. Beyond him, across the corridor, dawn was creeping on the patch of sky Porthos could see through the window. Porthos didn't want to wait anymore for anyone else; he wanted to be out there looking for his friend. He felt Athos' grip tighten on his arm and could hear the other two coming up behind him. It was confusion more than anything that made him move aside to let the man in, there was nervousness in the slight hunch of his shoulders that Porthos had never seen before.

"We're going to get Aramis back Captain," Porthos told him.

Colour leeched from Treville's face right before his eyes.

"You know who has him?" he asked.

"The Cardinal," Athos supplied.

"And Marsac here has told us who that is," Porthos nodded towards the man in question.

Treville's gaze darted towards Marsac before he closed his eyes momentarily as a pained frown creased his face. He shook his head minutely and pursing his lips he blew out the breath through his nose.

"I don't think that's the case," he said, "you know now who the Cardinal works for."

"It reeks of Senior's work," Porthos said.

"I'm afraid there is something you should know before you decide on that," Treville shook his head, "But I ask you to keep in mind that what we decided it was by our knowledge the best decision, we didn't know then how far it would go."

"Captain?"

"And you probably got the worst brunt of it d'Artagnan," Treville shook his head, "when you didn't even know why."

Porthos caught the near frightened look in their young friend's gaze and felt a surge of warmth at the sight of Athos' hand on d'Artagnan's arm. The two stood close together, taking strength from each other's proximity.

"It started with Vincent Amadeus the head of security for the d'Herblay family. He lived at The Manor and knew of all the dark secrets tucked in that place. And what no one knew then was that whatever the cameras in that house caught, Vincent stored it all." Treville looked to Athos and Porthos, "when you all began university I was setting up my security business with my partner, a software genius, Alexander d'Artagnan."

D'Artagnan opened his mouth to speak, his eyes widening as he shook his head slightly and then clenched his jaw close without a word.

Treville nodded.

"Yes I knew your father," he said, "We were still establishing our business when two years down the road we were approached by this woman. She was one of those people who cared, a lot; and for those she cared, she cared fiercely. Mrs. Du Vallon brought us our first big assignment."

Porthos sucked in a harsh breath. He didn't like where this was going, he already knew where it ended and as much as he didn't want to hear it, his morbid curiosity silently urged for the Captain to go on.

"She had watched over her son's friend from the background and she had silently tried to help the boy when she knew speaking up could hurt him more. Mrs. Du Vallon asked us to find some solid evidence against d'Herblay Senior now that Aramis was eighteen. She didn't want you all to know, she didn't want you to worry and she was sure Aramis would try to stop her should he find out about it. It took us a while but we finally convinced Vincent Amadeus to hand over the proof he had collected over the years." Treville drew a hand through his hair and down his face, "Senior came after us with all that he had, starting with Vincent. After his death Alexander came in possession of this evidence and made himself the next target. But before they got to him, Alexander had passed on that hard-drive to Mrs. Du Vallon. We only found out after his death that he had encrypted it and left the decryption code behind with his son."

"The key," Athos murmured, "it's the key she was talking about."

"But I don't have it," d'Artagnan drew a hand through his hair and pulled at the strands in his grasp, "I don't have any key."

"It's with my son," Treville said, "that's the message that came up every time we tried to access the hard-drive after Alexander's death. But you had disappeared even before your father's funeral and we couldn't tell Senior that the evidence we now had was useless. He was still intent on destroying us; his next step was to end Mrs. Du Vallon's business and he was targeting Aramis and his new wife. We called a truce then. I took charge of the hard drive and we told Senior that it wouldn't see the light of the day if he backed up and stayed away."

"That's why he didn't interfere all this time, not even when Aramis joined the army," Porthos spoke more to himself, "but what has it got to do with Aramis getting kidnapped?"

It was Athos who answered not Treville.

"The day Vincent was killed he was not alone," Athos reminded Porthos of Cluzet's words, "He died and so did his grandson, now Vincent's son is after Senior."

Treville nodded.

"Victor knew of the evidence his father had saved and I – when we met a little over two years ago – I knew he was hurting so I told him it wasn't all in vain, that the evidence wasn't lost but in my safe keeping;" he said as a deep furrow appeared between his eyebrows, "we talked about how at least the young man for whom all this started was better off now, serving in the army."

Athos' eyes were closed, his face pale and drawn as he shook his head.

"Please captain; tell me you didn't talk with him when Aramis was headed for SAVOY," he said.

The silence, the way the older man's shoulders slumped in defeat screamed of his guilt. Porthos felt the world spinning off its axis and he had to throw out a hand to balance himself against the wall. This was too much, too much information in too big a dose.

He was still reeling from it all when Marsac caught the Captain by the front of his shirt and slammed him into the wall beside Porthos. There was wild rage in his eyes.

"Are you telling me that you are the reason that man knew where to find us?"

"I didn't know he would go after Aramis,"

"Aramis," Marsac blinked as he drew back and without any warning punched Treville in the face, "so Aramis is the reason that the massacre happened?"

He didn't wait for a reply and punched the Captain again as soon as he straightened.

Treville hit the floor with blood pouring from the tear on his cheek and trickling from his nose. Porthos moved then, stepping in front of the Captain he knocked Marsac out cold. He was aware of Athos helping the older man to his feet and it took all of his stretched control to not turn around and deck the Captain as well.

"How is this helping us now?" Athos asked.

"Vadim," Treville wiped the blood from his nose with his sleeve, "when he hacked into our database that was not all that he did. While we were busy securing our files and the Bourbons someone broke into my safe at the office. It occurred to me when d'Artagnan told me about Vadim offering him information about the Cardinal if he joined him. Vadim wasn't loyal to the Cardinal, you said it yourself Athos. He may have hacked into our systems to get information on you three for the Cardinal but he could have easily profited from a side job by telling Victor when I would be distracted."

"You could have told us Captain. We could have done something before he came after Aramis," Porthos was having a hard time to keep from yelling at the man.

"I didn't think he was after Aramis, the code is with d'Artagnan so I assumed he would be the target."

"That's why you made sure he was kept around us, you made him a part of our team even before he could be trained so that we'd keep an eye on him," Athos nodded even as he rubbed the back of his neck, "but Victor came for Aramis."

* * *

Time had stretched into blanks of unconsciousness and a haze of pain across his back. His inner clock hinted that it was morning but the pale glow against smooth underground walls remained constant. With a perfection borne of experience he pulled his mind away from the pain that radiated from his back. Although he couldn't see he was sure that it would be red and purple around the ribs, the stiff, swollen muscles pinching on his nerves were enough evidence of that. There was a sticky line along the waist of his jeans so he could assume that they may have broken skin sometimes in the past few hours.

Sadly for them, they didn't know he was quite familiar with the damage wrought by an innocent looking belt.

"What're you smiling at?" Gontard asked.

"The image of your brains painting the wall," Aramis' smile held a cold inflection that was disturbing enough for Gontard to forget to close his mouth around his cigarette; he dropped it from his fingers and jumped back with a curse. Extinguishing it under his toe he regarded the man before him with a scowl.

"I'm starting to believe that you don't know about the key after all," Gontard said, "The boss thought that was the reason you had survived our first encounter, because you were meant to help him bring down your father; but I guess he was wrong."

Gontard moved closer to him, safe in the knowledge that he had beaten the fight out of the man.

"You are the son but you don't have the key; the boss is the son but he doesn't have the key, maybe d'Artagnan had a son we don't know about? I should look into that, maybe he's the one we should be questioning."

That was not what Aramis had expected to hear.

Not d'Artagnan.

Not his little brother.

Adrenalin surged in him, riding on the fear for his young friend. He could not let d'Artagnan be caught by these men; he wouldn't let them drag the boy into whatever insane mess this was.

Wrapping his stiff fingers around the rope that secured his hands above Aramis pulled himself up. Before Gontard could even comprehend what was happening, Aramis swung his legs backwards and then forwards and up, wrapping them around the man's neck. His choking sputters and fists did nothing to dissuade him.

Aramis was so intent on strangling the man before him that he was surprised when he felt the rope around the pipe overhead give way. He fell backwards; landing on his hands he used the momentum to flip Gontard over him and came around on top of the man.

He knocked him out with a fist across his face and looked up at the advancing men.

The creaking of the pipe must have warned them Aramis mused as the five men lunged for him. Hurt and exhaustion fell away as adrenalin and muscle memory took over. Aramis was not above fighting dirty, not when his only thought was to end this now before they could pull d'Artagnan into this.

A deafening crash marked the end of their scuffle as the last of the men fell back against the shelf of wine bottles. One after the other the shelves toppled to the ground like falling dominos, leaving a sea of muddy wine and shards of glass before Aramis. Not wasting precious seconds, he dashed across it towards the cellar door he knew to be on the other end. The stinging of crunching glass under bare feet would come later; he had to get out of here before his friends launched a rescue. Aramis was sure that d'Artagnan would be with them and he wouldn't have him anywhere near these men.

He was up the stairs and out the door when he turned straight into a taser. The jolt in his side locked his muscles from his neck to his toes. His breath caught, his body twitched as he fell to his side. Cold blue eyes regarded him…

… _The man grabs the front of his shirt and distantly Aramis hears someone shout his name._

 _The smirk of the man is visible through his ski mask but Aramis cannot look away from the cold blue stare fixed on him._ _The man presses his gun near the point where his shoulder meets his neck and leans forward._

" _So you're the one called Aramis hmm? It's a shame they all had to die in your stead."_

 _The muzzle of the gun presses harder against him._

" _This is for my father and for my son."_

… Aramis gasped to pull in a breath. His parched throat burned as he tried to curl onto his side to pull away from the sight of this man; this man who had slaughtered twenty innocents just to get some form of revenge on him.

For the life of him Aramis couldn't understand what he had done to warrant such hatred from the man.

It didn't stop him from putting up resistance, feeble though it was against the arms that pulled him up to his feet.

"Boss I –" it was Gonatrd stumbling through the door behind him.

"Shut up,"

"Victor –"

"I said shut up Gontard! It's time we contacted Senior." Victor turned away from the man and threw something at Aramis' face.

It took him a moment to register that it was a cloth, a shirt, his own shirt to be precise.

"Get him into that, he'll have to look civil for his father," Victor said.

* * *

The early morning light filtered through unto a room swirling with too many emotions. Athos could see the shroud of guilt around the Captain and the wheels turning in Leon's head as the Detective Inspector questioned the man, his pen scratching notes onto a writing pad.

Behind them, trekking up and down the length of the sofa, Porthos was a volcano ready to erupt. The tremors in his clenched fists a warning signal against any attempts to sooth him. Athos wouldn't even try to go down that path, not when his own anger simmered just under his skin.

So he turned to their youngest. D'Artagnan was perched on the edge of the coffee table with his head in his hands. His position allowing him to listen in to all that was happening yet he had withdrawn into himself behind a dark cape of hurt.

Athos took a seat beside him and gripped his shoulder. The boy swung his head up and met his gaze; there was a suspicious wetness in his eyes. Leaning a little into his touch the younger man rubbed a hand across his face and turned to the men before him.

"What I don't understand is that why this particular evidence is so important?" he asked, "Cluzet is sitting on a load of proof and Senior hadn't been intent on finding it."

"This evidence is personal," Treville said, "it's a record of the home life of a violent man. There is hours of footage of domestic abuse where the victims are both his wife and his son but that's not all."

That anger simmering under his skin boiled in his veins and it was with a monumental effort that Athos kept it out of his voice.

"Captain?" he prompted.

Treville looked somewhere between nauseated and enraged.

"Senior murdered his wife; we have footage of the act," he said, "The only other witness was his son."

Porthos swore, Leon's pen dropped from his hand and rolled onto his lap but he was too busy gaping at the Captain. Athos felt the world sway around him and it was only the anchoring grip of his youngest brother that kept him from losing his balance where he sat.

"That's quite a big accusation Treville," Leon found his voice.

"I have proof – had proof but it couldn't be accessed without the key."

"I don't have any key," d'Artagnan was on his feet, "I don't know where it is, if it ever was at our home. You think I wouldn't hand it over to you if I had it with me?"

"No one's questioning your intentions d'Art," Athos took to his feet as well.

"Yeah pup, we know you'd help us if you could." Porthos nodded.

"And this evidence is now with Victor Amadeus, the man you claim has kidnapped Aramis." Leon pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Yes, the man we wish you'd go out there and look for about two hours ago." Porthos snapped at him then cursed roundly when a sharp rapping on the front door made them all jump in their skin.

"What the hell do you people want coming here for if you can't help us in finding Aramis?" He demanded as he pulled open the door with a harsh jerk.

The dark haired woman in front of him raised an unimpressed brow.

"I'm looking for Athos," she said.

He crossed the distance between them, raking his mind as to any clue who this woman could be. Not many people outside of his circle even knew his middle name, let alone know that it was what he went by.

"I am Athos," he told their new guest.

"I am Christine," she said, "otherwise known as The Duchess; M'Lady might have spoken of me."

His wife had never mentioned the name or the moniker but Athos knew just by the work title of his not so dead wife being brought up that he could not ignore this woman. He cast a glance over his shoulder towards the two on the sofa and turned without a word to march to his room, leaving the front door open for the woman.

Christine followed him without permeable with Porthos and d'Artagnan at her heels. Athos closed the door behind them and wished that he had kept up the habit of storing liquor in his room.

"I don't know you by either of your names," he told the woman.

"Probably not," Christine shrugged and eyed the other two men, "But I knew bringing up M'Lady could warrant a private urgent meeting."

"You can say your piece in their presence," Athos crossed his arms before his chest and leaned against the wall, "why are you here?"

"Because of my husband," she said, "Last evening there was a rumour in our mill about the Fourth being snatched off the street. My orders came after my husband came back home."

Athos gave her a blank look; for once in his life it wasn't sarcastic.

"I'm from the same circle as M'Lady; we even came from the same orphanage. Being older, I was assigned much sooner than her. My target was Victor Amadeus."

"Son of Vincent Amadeus?" d'Artagnan asked.

"So you know who that is," she nodded, "it was an important strategic position and The Duchess was perfect for the job. You know better than anyone Athos that in our field we shouldn't fall in love with our mark."

"Someone ordered Anne to come into my life?" Athos couldn't wrap his mind around it.

"The same man who ordered me, the Cardinal; he has a lot of well placed pieces." Christine shook her head, "But we don't have the time to go into details of his network. My husband is in danger, he took the Fourth and my orders demand his termination."

Christine took a deep breath and looked Athos in the eye.

"Anne always said you were a good man Athos, please save my husband."

"You want us to save the man who took Aramis? Who launched a massacre in his revenge?" Porthos growled.

"I want you to save the Fourth before my husband kills him." She snapped.

"And how are we supposed to do that?" d'Artagnan asked.

"He came home very late last night and left just a few hours before dawn," she said, "Between that I noticed that the taillight of our car was lose, someone had kicked it from the inside. I checked the tracker I had put in our car and right now it's at the d'Herblay Manor. It was where it went last night."

No one moved for a few minutes; each of them clearly torn between trusting the woman yet wary of her position that she had revealed herself. At length Athos pushed away from wall.

"Why should we trust you?" he asked.

"Because I love my husband. Because I have already lost my son to the information I had passed on myself. Because I will have to take the life of the man I love or watch someone else do it. Because I don't have the strength your wife had Athos."

Silence reigned supreme.

The only sound was Christine's harsh breathing as she wiped the moisture from her eyes.

"My wife murdered my brother," Athos reminded her.

"Like she was ordered to," Christine said, "But after The Cardinal saved her from prison she went rogue. I can't. I'm neither as brave nor as foolish."

Athos stared at this woman and tried to make sense of all the words that were spilling from her. He couldn't grasp the enormity of what she was implying, but he could read between the lines that she drew. From orphanage to agents, well placed pieces to command, despite himself he felt sympathy for her.

And Anne – what she had been to him, what she was truly and what she is now – he hadn't the strength to go into his feelings for that at the moment.

"Please Athos; do not force me to be The Duchess again."

Athos averted his gaze from her and looked to his brothers. Mirrored there was the same anger, compassion and sheer frustration that he felt. With a nod Athos opened the door.

"We'll look into The Manor first," he said.

With a silent agreement they followed the woman out. She thanked them politely and took her leave. Athos watched her go through the still open door and turned to the Captain.

"Christine's husband saw the men who took Aramis, he's too scared to talk to the police so we'll head down to his place and hear him out." he said.

"I could go with you," Leon offered, "in plains cloth and all."

"We don't want to risk scaring him," Porthos added.

"Are you sure it's a good lead?" Captain Treville asked.

"As good as any at the moment," Athos shrugged.

"Hey where's Marsac?" d'Artagnan asked from no one in particular.

Athos and Porthos turned as one where they had left the man slumped against the wall. He had been unconscious for almost half an hour before sitting up in a dazed stupor. None of them had paid him mind as he had sat for hours, silently gathering his wits; yet none of them were surprised by his slow progress not after the beat down Porthos had given him.

But now the space he had occupied was empty.

Inadvertently Athos eyes drew to the hallway to his room and then to the open front door. Marsac's voice echoed in his head.

" _..I promised myself that day that I'll get to the root of it and end it myself,"_

"… _so Aramis is the reason that the massacre happened?"_

Porthos was out of the door the second it all clicked in his mind and Athos grabbed his weapon as d'Artagnan grabbed his car keys. Treville and Leon followed their thundering pace.

"What's wrong? Where are you headed?"

"Leon get your men down to The Manor," Athos told the Detective Inspector.

* * *

 **So we have answers...at least some of them :)**

 **Thank you all who read, follow and favorite this story. And thank you kind people who take the time to leave me reviews; for the guest reviewers a personal thank you for each one you. You all are the reason I started and ended this chapter in one sitting.**

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	15. Chapter 15

**WARNING: Canon character death.**

* * *

It had been years since anyone had roamed these hallways; the knobby sheets draped over furniture were layered with grey dust, the same dust that was now cut with boot prints leading up the marble stairs. In the lazy afternoons during the years he was still a day student he had rode the curve of this very banister, had hidden behind these thick drapes in the hollow of long windows on the second story hallway and had dodged the busy servants in his mad dash for one thing or another.

The child he had been would relish the morning light in this place no matter what the shadows of the stretching evenings would bring. Because he never saw the Manor as his home, just a necessity he had to endure and make the best of. Home had been Porthos' clutch at the back of his shirt as he eased him down from all the trees Aramis was not supposed to climb in the school grounds and his restraining hold on the back of Aramis' collar each time he tried to launch at Rochefort for insulting Porthos. It was Athos' unimpressed glare as Aramis teased him with his own proficiency in mathematics and it was his friend's pencil rapping on the page of his book to get his attention back on the vocabulary list Aramis loathed to learn.

This was what he focused on as they tied his bruised and bloody hands in front of him, manhandled him into his shirt and shoes and then dragged him up the stairs when his torn feet wouldn't take his weight. He held on to the memories of his friends and pushed back the ones that threatened to frighten him to his knees.

They pulled him along the corridor towards the east wing.

He focused on the feeling of Porthos' arms enveloping him in a bear hug.

The heavy doors to his father's study came into view.

He pictured Athos' valiant efforts to stop the exasperated smile trying to break out on his face.

The loud creaking of the door pushed open echoed all around him.

He imagined d'Artagnan ranting, complete with wild gestures as he tried to dumb down and explain the workings of his latest project that Aramis understood much more then he let on.

He was deposited in the chair before the mahogany writing table, Victor took the tall backed one behind it and booted up a laptop. A musty smell of leather hung in the air that was speckled with golden dust; it floated in the sunlight that danced on the row of foggy crystal decanters set atop the chest of drawers.

Aramis thought he had heard a rustle of a dress and glanced towards the door, expecting – someone – he pulled his gaze back when a soft thud invaded the silence.

"My guess is you don't know what this is," Victor tapped the packet on the writing table with a finger.

It was enclosed in a clear plastic bag and looked like computer hardware; Aramis guessed it to be a hard disk. He met the cool blue eyes fixed on him.

"And I'm guessing this is the hard drive the key for which I'm supposed to possess," Aramis surprised himself by his own casual tone, "I'll let you in on a secret, just hold that tiny slider and pull it back. Don't tell anyone but every zipper bag can be opened that way."

"Arrogant like your father aren't you Rene?"

"It runs in the family," he shrugged a shoulder and didn't even flinch when Victor slammed his hands against the smooth top of the writing table as he came to his feet. The broad shouldered man leaned over his arms and glared at the man who by all rights should have been an exhausted, terrified mess.

Aramis pulled on his best indifferent look and tried not to glance towards the door again. He had never been allowed much in his father's study yet this room was dredging up a strange crawling under his skin; there was a prickling at the back of his neck as though a presence in the doorway looked his way.

"Your father wouldn't be so arrogant when he finds out I have his son,"

"You're right. He'll be irritated more than anything for being bugged by the news."

Victor smirked at him.

"He may not care for his son but he'll be worried about his heir,"

"He'll be even more worried if you had spirited off one of his Doberman Pinschers," Aramis smirked right back, "now that would have been impressive; you don't want to know where they'd clamp down to drag you back to their master ."

There was a dangerous glint in Victor's eyes as he leaned forward over the table.

"I'll enjoy putting a bullet in your head," he said.

"You should've done that when you had the chance two years ago," Aramis coked his head to the side as a smile played on his lips; it was blank and just shy of unhinged.

Victor shifted back in his seat, eyes widening slightly as his hands clutched the arm of the chair just a bit righter. That terrifying caricature of a smile widened.

"That's a missed opportunity that'll see you to your end," Aramis said.

He couldn't enjoy the poorly concealed unease of the man before him. Because his own mind was pulling his attention to something else, he could have sworn he could smell – something – something metallic – something off.

But then it was some intrinsic form of self-defense mechanism that blocked his thoughts and Aramis pulled up the walls in his mind again.

… _Porthos, Athos, d'Artagnan…_ brick by brick it went up _…Athos, Porthos, d'Artagnan…_ one by one they stood with him _…d'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos…_ he had to get back to them, he had to get back home.

He looked back at the man when the video link opened on his laptop screen. The scowl on his face deepened and Aramis mused that whoever was on the other end had just escaped a sound right-hook.

"If I remember correctly Cardinal, I said I would only talk to Senior." Victor said.

"He has other matters to attend to,"

Aramis sat up at that voice, he knew that man; but he couldn't understand what he was doing taking a call on his father's behalf. He closed his eyes against the realization that his hunch had been far too narrow, he had assumed Richelieu to be in contact with the Cardinal but never imagined him to be the man himself.

Adele must have found it out, Aramis couldn't escape the dull pain in his breath at the thought, but if the Cardinal was working for his father like this call implied then he wasn't surprised with the ruthlessness showed towards her. He only wished he had not asked her to look into this, she might have been saved from being the victim of Marsac's bullet.

Marsac.

Marsac, his old friend was working for the Cardinal now; he was working for his father now. Aramis grimaced and pulled away from the sharp cut in his soul at the thought.

"I have his son here with me," Victor was saying.

"He's aware of that,"

"Then he should also be aware of the fact that his son isn't long for this world, I'll be ending him like Senior did for my father and my son."

"No you won't," the reply wasn't smug as such but it was the bored certainty behind the voice that had Victor clenching his jaw in contempt.

Aramis felt a twinge of sympathy for the man, he was a monster, a monster that had murdered twenty innocent men yet he was a monster his father had created. Senior had talent of bringing out the worst in people and Aramis knew that the only reason he had been saved from that was his friendship with Athos and Porthos; he wondered if they even realized what a saving grace they had been to him.

"And does he know I have this with me," Victor raised the hard drive, "all the evidence that my father collected against him."

There was a pause on the other end and Aramis wondered if he would be face to face with his father again after all.

"It's useless without the key, one that I'm sure you don't have."

"What if you're wrong about that?"

An exasperated huff came from the Cardinal; Aramis could imagine the man rolling his eyes.

"Our agents in Treville's office had retrieved and accessed it and were then ordered to put it back in the safe you stole it from," said the Cardinal, "because we knew that it was useless without the key."

Aramis blinked and shook his head, he had no idea how Treville was involved in all this; he couldn't ponder on it though because the next declaration brought his racing mind to a screeching halt.

"I'm sure you've read 'it's with my son,' when you've tried to access this hard drive and we've been searching for the son for quite some years now. For your information, its Alexander d'Artagnan's son, Labarge didn't find this hard drive on him so we had our work cut out for us. We tracked it down to Treville but found that this evidence could not be accessed without the decryption code. Imagine our surprise when our people in Treville's ranks told us that they had located the boy who possessed it," the Cardinal was clearly gloating, "Treville did his best to keep the name safe, he hasn't yet registered the boy as his employee but when Vadim pulled the files of Athos, Porthos and Aramis we found the case they had worked on that involved d'Artagnan's son. So you see our people were right, the boy is in our sights and very very far out of your reach."

"I will find the boy and ruin your boss!"

"You'll be dead in a few hours at most," the Cardinal sounded bored, "We will take the hard drive off your hands then. It was a pleasure doing business with you Mr. Amadeus."

Victor slammed close the laptop as Aramis tried to come to terms with what he had heard. The Cardinal was after d'Artagnan, his father – Senior – was after their youngest and it made his heart stutter at all the damage that the man could wrought in that young life, all the destruction that he had already brought upon d'Artagnan.

"Fine then, I'll start with ending your life." Victor snapped and got to his feet as he stuffed the hard drive in his jacket's pocket.

Aramis didn't see him come around the desk, he was realizing that he had to get out of here and save d'Artagnan; he had to get back home and warn the others. He focused back when the sunlight flashed over the muzzle of the weapon trained on him and just before Victor could depress the trigger Aramis surged to his feet and slammed his shoulder into the man's stomach.

Surprised though his opponent was it was hardly a scuffle, Aramis was wheezing as Victor landed a few good hits over his ribs. Clasping the man's arm with both hands Aramis straighten and smashed Victor's wrist over his own knee. With a curse the larger man dropped his weapon and Aramis kicked it away with all he had. It skittered over the threshold of the study, across the width of the narrow hallway, through the gap in the banister and toppled over the edge.

And then they heard the shots fired.

Aramis reeled and fell back in the chair as Victor ducked and moved to the door. As more shots echoed over the grounds outside Victor moved into the hallway and demanded a report from his men. Aramis couldn't make out what the reply was but he knew it was Gontard yelling up from the vast lounge below. He shook his head to clear the spots blinking in his view like a swarm of fireflies as Victor moved further out into the corridor, his footfalls heavy in his urgent decent on the curling stairs afar.

But Aramis just sat there and breathed. There was a lancing fire at his feet and a hot concrete vice over the back of his ribs, he knew he had to move but for the moment he was simply floored by the pain that had managed to slip past his control during the short fray.

"There you are old friend,"

Aramis forced his eyes open to see the man leaning in the doorway.

"Marsac?" it came out rough against his suddenly parched throat.

The man in question nodded as he walked in with a gun in his hand and came to a stop at the corner of the writing table. The cut on his nose and at the side of his lip added to his rather weary appearance.

"You look wiped out," Aramis said.

"So do you,"

"You're here alone?"

"The cavalry isn't far behind." Marsac offered him a small smirk.

… _Marsac smirking in challenge as they made their way across the training field side by side…_

As though on cue, Aramis could hear the cars rolling to a stop over the winding driveway of the Manor.

"You know when I left that clearing I promised myself to get to the root of it and put a bullet through the eye of the man responsible," the smirk on Marac's face turned into a self-deprecating grin.

… _Marsac grinning at him from over the rim of a glass and raising it in mock salute before dirking it all in one go…_

There was a racket as the police subdued the men outside. Aramis could hear more shots fired as some men resisted.

"Victor came for me that day," he said, "I was his target."

"I just found out this morning," Marsac nodded.

"So what now?"

Marsac emptied the bullets from his weapon into his hand. Aramis watched him place them onto the table as the cavalry stormed into the building. He couldn't look away as Marsac raised a single bullet between his finger and his thumb as if they were back in training and terrifying their latest mark.

Footsteps thundered up the stairs.

… _sharp blue eyes softened by tears, fringes of sandy hair sticking out from under the knit cap and clinging to his forehead; a wobbly smile on his face as he pressed snow onto the fire devouring and draining Aramis too fast._

" _You'll be fine Aramis, you'll be fine…"_

 _He is getting up and Aramis' breath hitches. The world whites out for a moment and when he opens his eyes he cannot feel the cold and he cannot feel the fire. With his cheek pressed against the snow he watches the figure in black walk away…_

…He shook his head as the policeman appeared in the doorway.

"Drop your weapon!"

Marsac's smile was wobbly.

"No," Aramis breathed out.

Marsac raised the gun in his hand.

"NO!" Aramis surged to his feet as a gunshot cracked the air.

"No, no, no," he caught Marsac by the front of shirt and they both hit their knees in synch, "no, no, no, it's empty, it's always empty, he palm's the bullet, please no, please, please."

His tied hands wouldn't let him embrace his friend so he just clutched his shirt and pulled his friend against him until Marsac's limp chin dropped on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Aramis spoke in his hair, "I'm sorry."

There were people rushing into the study but Aramis couldn't feel up to facing them. The weight settled against his chest was heavy in more ways than one.

Scrabbling for control, he sat a bit dazed on his knees as someone eased away the man from his hold. Aramis stared at the pool of blood that had gathered under Marsac's form, the stench of it hung thick in the air. He swallowed against the rising bile and blinked away the cold sweat that suddenly broke onto his forehead.

He blinked at the dark pool that was suddenly much bigger and on a different carpet. Sucking in a breath Aramis pushed to his feet as the limp shape sprawled on the floor turned distinctly feminine in his mind. He backtracked without looking away from the spot that was stained red, deep and dark and wet like the red on the yellow dress of the woman.

"No," Aramis shook his head and clenched his eyes shut until his back hit the banister.

He sagged a bit against it as someone cut the ropes around his wrists. Aramis didn't register what they were saying as he turned his back to the open door of the study and leaned against the smooth cool barrier of the wood.

He was still leaning heavily against it when he saw him. Victor was sneaking out through one of the many long cut windows of the lounge. With a growl deep in his throat Aramis pushed away from his support and ran down the corridor, dodging shocked men down the stairs he dashed out into the grounds even as Victor picked up pace.

Distantly he though he heard his brothers but Aramis' mind was set onto the man's retreating figure. Squinting against the sunlight he neared the man he was pursuing and it was beyond the tree line that Aramis tackled him.

He had only grasped the hard drive in the man's pocket when another shot cracked the air and punching him in the gut Victor took to his feet. The escaping man didn't even look back as Aramis clutched the packet in his good hand and forced himself to his feet. He had only just tucked it in his belt under his shirt when the police rushed past him.

He was pondering over joining the chase when his friends came into view.

"Aramis!"

They clambered up to him, faces etched with worry and relief and rage.

Aramis tried not to dwell on the hurt flashing in Porthos' eyes as he stepped away from the big man's grasp before it could make contact. He couldn't do this, not here.

"Took you long enough," he offered them a tight smile.

He could tell that his friends could see right through it but was eternally grateful that none of them called him out on it. He couldn't afford that, not yet, not here. This was his father's domain; he couldn't have them here, especially not d'Artagnan.

Aramis glanced at the gun in Porthos' hand.

"I'll need your back up," he said as he reached out.

"What the hell happened to your hand?" Porthos' eyes widened at the sight of the bruising on his left hand; coupled with the bloody specks from his wrists it painted a ghastly picture.

"Repetition of simple dislocation and reduction of the MCP joint, it's reduced at the moment," Aramis informed him.

"Give him the weapon Porthos," Athos said.

"But –"

"D'Art will need yours," Aramis added.

"I will?" the boy stared.

Athos handed over his back up weapon to their young friend without a word and whatever silent communication he had with Porthos made the bigger man relinquish his as well. Aramis couldn't tell the man how thankful he was so he settled for a nod.

They turned as one to face the Detective who jogged up to meet them.

* * *

He had seen it before, after SAVOY, when their friend had woken up he had been distant and hyper vigilant. He was no longer the Aramis they knew, gone was the playful, tactile brother they had known all their lives and in his place had been a cold, paranoid shell.

Athos had learned then that arguing and denying would only cause more trouble for them. He knew how much it hurt Porthos to have Aramis avoid his touch and it weighed on his own heart that he couldn't just step up and gather his brother in his arms. He only wished that this time again they could coax Aramis back out from wherever he had retreated.

As Porthos grumbled and handed the weapon to Aramis, Athos tried to glean how hurt his friend was. There was no way he had escaped this ordeal without physical injury, Athos was sure that the bruised joint in his hand was only the tip of the iceberg. While he couldn't clearly read the physical pain, not when Aramis had clamped down on it, Athos could still try to decipher the current reason for his friend's worry.

There was a lot that would be hurting him but Athos tried not to show his surprise when it seemed like Aramis kept glancing towards their youngest. Even d'Artagnan knew something was off when Aramis stepped in front of him at the sight of Leon making his way to them.

"My men are still searching for Victor," Leon informed them, "We believe he took the evidence with him."

"And his men?"

"We've come across a lot of dead and wounded," Leon grimaced, "we didn't ask for enough ambulances."

"Speaking of that, Aramis needs to get checked out by the first medical personal you can find." Porthos said.

"No, I mean – it's not needed." Aramis spoke up.

"Try that again," Porthos nearly growled, "try telling me that they've treated you right all this time. Try and convince me that the man who murdered twenty men just to get his revenge didn't lay a finger on you."

Aramis grit his teeth.

"I don't need an ambulance, I need to go home."

"You can go home once you're cleared by the paramedics," Athos tried to reason.

"Athos, Porthos, I need to go home," Aramis repeated more softly this time.

It should have sounded whiny and petulant and any other time they'd have teased him mercilessly for such a juvenile demand, but in that moment Athos had to blink clear the sudden moisture in his eyes. He saw Porthos reaching out but stopping just short of laying his hand on Aramis' shoulder; clenching it in a fist instead, he pulled it back.

"Home it is," Athos declared.

"Thank you," the smile was warmer this time and Athos was heartened that they hadn't lost their brother just yet.

Leon reluctantly insisted that Aramis would need to give his statement since he wasn't in immediate danger and as much as he hated to have his brother on the edge, Athos agreed. It came as a blow when Aramis insisted that he would give Leon his statement in private.

So the three of them stepped away, out of hearing reach yet still in view; Athos knew none of them could bear to lose sight of their brother again so soon.

"What's wrong with him?" d'Artagnan demanded.

Porthos shook his head and drew a hand through his curls.

"Remember when I told you that you don't want to see him in his protective mode?" he asked their young friend and waved a hand in the direction of Aramis, "well there it is."

"This time it seems you are the one he's worried for," Athos added, "maybe Victor told him about what happened to your father."

"What do we do now?" d'Artagnan cast a glance towards their friend and met his gaze.

It seemed like Aramis was making sure that d'Artagnan was within his sight.

"We make sure he feels safe enough to relieve the post he had taken," Athos remembered the weeks it had taken to bring their Aramis out from wherever he had locked himself in his mind. He hoped it wouldn't take so long this time around.

"Leon says we can leave now," Aramis walked up to them.

It was a smooth going until they reached their car. Aramis shook his head when he and d'Artagnan reached for the front seat together. Athos shared a look with Porthos; this was more than a simple quarrel over calling shotgun. Their youngest seemed to understand that and back away with a shrug.

As the four of them strapped in for the long drive home, Aramis turned to the two in the back.

"If I tell you to get down d'Art you will hit the mats before your next breath," he said, "alright?"

For a second Athos was worried that the younger man would snap at him for giving him orders but it was only a fleeting thought, because d'Artagnan gave Aramis a firm nod.

"Alright, I get it;" he spoke in complete seriousness.

Apparently satisfied, Aramis turned back to face the front and unlocking the safety of his weapon he set it on his knees. It was in the top five most stressful drives Athos had ever had. The man beside him was perched on the edge of the seat, his dark eyes scanning the road ahead before flicking to the side-view mirror to check the road behind them. By the time they finally pulled into their street Athos was seeing ambush and threats in every passing car.

The stress rolling off of their friend didn't ease even as they closed the front door of their flat behind them. Porthos made sure to lock it down tight just to give Aramis that sliver of peace. Still the tightness in his lines didn't loosen and without a word they followed him into his room.

Aramis stood in his room, eyes taking in every nook and looking a little unsure all of a sudden.

"Aramis?" Athos asked.

"Richelieu is the –"

"– Cardinal, yes we found it." Athos nodded.

"He works for –"

"– Senior, we know that now." Porthos assured him.

Aramis looked to d'Artagnan.

"He ordered the murder of –"

"– my father, we know," their youngest sighed.

Aramis gave a sharp nod and reached behind him. They stared wide eyed as he pulled out the package he had tucked under his shirt. It was a hard drive. Athos stared from it to his friend, not daring to believe that it was actually the one piece of evidence that had brought such havoc in their lives.

Aramis held it out to d'Artagnan.

"I think its evidence of some sort but I'm sure it has something to do with your father and a key he was supposed to have. Labarge didn't find it on him when he –" Aramis shook his head, "Senior believes you have this key. He knows where we – you work. I don't know it all but Senior wants this badly and this is probably what your father died for. You could hand it over to Senior if you wish and save yourself – no one will blame you – I won't blame you – you're the only one who has the right to decide what to do with this."

With a slightly trembling hand d'Artagnan took the package from him. His rounded eyes were fixed on the object as though he expected it to bite his fingers any second.

"He will be coming for him," Aramis looked in turn to Athos and Porthos, "we have to keep d'Art safe from him."

"We won't let him near our pup," Porthos promised.

"Good," Aramis nodded.

He swayed then.

Athos reached for him and together with Porthos they eased their friend onto his bed.

"Lemay will be getting off his shift in about half an hour; he agreed to come down here." Porthos told them.

"Then let's see the damage hmm?" Athos bent at the knees to look up at his friend's face.

Aramis' dark eyes were glazed over but he nodded.

"You gotta give it back now 'Mis," Porthos gently pried the weapon from their friend's suddenly trembling hands.

Aramis didn't protest, he didn't say a word as Porthos went about undoing the buttons of his shirt. Athos almost wished for an indecent comment but their friend's head was bent forwards and his wide eyes stared at the floor unseeingly.

He was clearly fading fast.

Athos busied himself with getting his boots off of him. He undid the laces of both of them and then tugged one off, frowning at the squelching suction. His eyes widened at the sight of the blood drenched foot.

He couldn't believe it, the stubborn idiot had been walking on it, his torn and cut foot, that idiot!

For all the anger seething in him Athos was gentle as he pulled off the other boot. It was caked with dry blood and dripping because of the wounds that had bled afresh.

Somewhere he heard Porthos curse and distantly he heard d'Artagnan rushing out into the corridor before the sound of his retching in the bathroom floated out to them. Dropping the shoe Athos surged to his feet and swung around to punch the first solid surface he could find.

It turned out to be the door to Aramis' room. The sharp thud reverberated around them as Athos ears rang with a blazing fury that he had seldom felt before. There were so many murderous thoughts racing in his mind that he had to lean against his fist still pressed to the door in an effort to catch his breath.

"No 'Mis please," Porthos' voice filtered through.

Athos turned around in time to see Aramis plop onto his rear as he scrambled back over and off the bed and then across the floor until his back hit the wall. It took an effort to pull his gaze away from the red streaks his friend had left in his wake.

"Aramis?" Athos slowly approached the form pressed against the wall.

"I'll see to d'Art," Porthos voice was low but the helpless anger was clear in the wavering pitch.

Athos nodded without turning his way, he knew it was killing Porthos to not be able to help but they knew instinctually to not crowd their friend.

"Aramis? Come on now it's me," Athos slowly went to his knees in front of his friend, "It's Athos, you know me brother."

Those dark eyes darted all over the room as Aramis pressed back into the wall and a broken whimper escaped him that cut Athos to the heart. He leaned forward when it seemed that Aramis was muttering something.

It was barely above a whisper.

"Por favor, Mamá Ayúdame, Mamá. Por favor, por favor,"

Athos flinched at the words like he had been slapped. It didn't take a linguist to understand what his friend was saying. Bracing himself, Athos raised a tentative hand and watched the scared weary eyes follow his movement. Slowly, gently, taking care to avoid the bruising curling over from his back and the red ringed burns on his shoulder, Athos settled his hand on the side of his friend's neck.

"Père s'il vous plaît, je suis désolé," Aramis gasped at his touch.

"S'il te plaît Aramis, c'est moi; reviens, mon frère,"Athos searched the roving gaze for any sign of recognition.

It seemed like ages until his friend's gaze settled back onto him. Whatever demons Aramis was seeing had left him pale and shaken, the injuries weren't helping the matter either.

"Athos?" it was spoken like a prayer and a plea rolled into one.

"I'm here my brother," Athos let his hand drift up to the side of friend's face; "I'm here."

"Athos you have to – d'Art he's after d'Art –"

"You need to breathe Aramis," Athos swiped his thumb back and forth over Aramis' cheekbone.

His friend frowned and looked past him, his eyes grew unfocused again. Aramis' jaw clenched tight and the hazy eyes roved all over the room in search for threats that only he could see. Athos cradled his face in both hands and waited for his wandering brother.

"Come back to us Aramis, please my brother come back," he spoke softly.

"Athos?"

"I'm here Aramis, you're home, you're safe."

Aramis looked him up and down.

"You?"

"I'm safe, unhurt."

"Porthos? D'Art?"

"We're safe 'Mis, we're all home." Porthos spoke from over Athos' shoulder.

Athos could feel d'Artagnan near his other shoulder, could imagine him nodding even without turning to face him.

"Home?" Aramis looked him in the eyes.

Athos gave him a firm nod.

It seemed like that was the final assurance he had been waiting for. Before any of them could say another word Aramis slumped in Athos' hold. It felt like a kick in the gut to see his eyes roll back in his head, leaving thin white crescents under half closed eyelids.

Without a word Athos drew him close until Aramis' forehead thumped solidly against his shoulder. His fingers tangled in the dark curls as he swallowed the prickly knot rising in his throat. Athos pressed a kiss to the side of his head in a silent promise to honour the post Aramis had finally conceded to them.

* * *

 _ **"Por favor, Mamá Ayúdame, Mamá. Por favor, por favor," [Spanish] Please mum help me, please, please.**_

 _ **"Père s'il vous plaît, je suis désolé," [French] Father please, I'm sorry.**_

 ** _"S'il te plaît Aramis, c'est moi; reviens, mon frère" [French] Please Aramis it's me, comeback my brother_. [THANK YOU  pain in the mikta for helping me here!]**

 **As always I don't know either of these languages, this is google translated so I apologize for any mistake.s**

 **Thank you dear people who read, follow and favorite this story. And Thank you all who leave me your thoughts, more often then not your words are the highlights of my days.**


	16. Chapter 16

When he was sixteen Porthos had hit a growth spurt and was filling out his frame at a rather alarming speed. Athos was following him at a more sedate pace while Aramis was leagues behind; and the fact that he was two years younger than his friends had never been more prominent. The result was that Porthos and Athos had quickly gotten used to the weight of their friend wrapped around their backs, which was often initiated without any forewarning. Especially for Porthos; because during that time Aramis seemed to have found some recessive cat gene in himself and had taken to clambering up onto Porthos' back like he was the last tree on the planet.

He had not been heavy then; and he was not heavy now for Porthos as he wrapped an arm around Aramis' shoulders and under his knees to pull him close. Adjusting his grip Porthos locked his knees and pushed up, planting his feet firmly on the ground and spreading the weight for balance with a fluidness that came from experience. He had often carried his friend to his bed after Aramis had dozed off sprawled on Porthos' bed in their dormitory.

Aramis' head lolled on his shoulder before stopping with the bridge of his nose pressed against the side of Porthos' neck. The big man tried to imagine themselves back in school; the three of them huddled on one bed long after it was allowed for them to be up, and forced his mind to not dwell on the clammy coldness of the skin under his hands.

He walked out of Aramis' room and went to his own across it. Wordlessly Athos pulled back the covers and Porthos settled his friend onto his side on the bed, pausing a second to feel the reassuring weight in his hand that was wrapped around Aramis' neck; his pulse beating under Porthos fingers was a priceless comfort. Giving it a gentle squeeze Porthos set his friend's head on the pillow and rested the back of his hand against Aramis' forehead. He could feel the start of a feverish warmth there.

Porthos looked up to see Athos and d'Artagnan lining the foot of the bed with towels to keep the blood from staining it.

"I'll get it," d'Artagnan moved out of the room before either of them could respond to the knock on the front door.

"We'll get through this," Porthos looked to Athos.

"We'll get through this," Athos affirmed.

Lemay entered the room with an armload of shopping bags, but what surprised them was the person who followed him. Constance offered them a smile as she deposited her load onto Aramis' desk.

"Lemay explained everything," she said, "how is he?"

"He's been worse," Athos said.

"That's not a consolation," Lemay raised a brow.

"It wasn't meant to be," Porthos shrugged a shoulder.

The doctor nodded and started examining the work cut out for him. D'Artagnan brought in the coat rack from the lounge for the IV line Constance set up and Lemay ordered Porthos to elevate the damaged feet while Athos was set to clear the debris from the rope burn on the wrist that was not bruised. Lemay palpated the battered joint in the other hand with a frown.

"The swelling isn't as bad as it should be," he said.

"It was likely elevated," Athos didn't look up from where he was cleaning the wound around the other wrist.

Porthos could tell by the sudden green hue to Lemay's face that he understood the implication but the man didn't say a word. He nodded instead towards Constance in a silent go ahead to wrap up the abused joint and waved a hand for d'Artagnan to bring close the lamp from Porthos' bedside table. In the glow of the lamp Lemay checked the ribs under the deep purple streaks that covered most of Aramis' upper back and spotted his chest in obvious fist prints.

Porthos couldn't look away from the long thin cuts where the skin had broken on his friend's back. He couldn't decide what was worse, the relatively fresh red crusted gashes or the thin silver scars that stood out starkly against the dark bruising.

Lemay set to clean the burns on Aramis' shoulder and as Porthos dabbed the cuts on his back, he heard d'Artagnan swallow thickly from beside him. He glanced aside to see the rather pale looking young man. His young friend looked a breath away from throwing up.

As much as he wanted to physically reassure d'Artagnan, Porthos' latex gloved finger tips were already stained red. He paused in his work and turned to face the younger man, effectively blocking his view of Lemay at work.

"You don't have to torture yourself like this," he said, "it's alright pup, we've got this."

D'Artagnan swiped his sleeve over his mouth and shook his head.

"He shouldn't have had to go through this," his voice came out hoarse, "he knew nothing about the key."

"Neither did any of us," Porthos shrugged, "why don't you take a breather?"

"I can help here," d'Artagnan shook his head and turned in a vague attempt to prove his point. Instead he found himself looking at Lemay where the good doctor had moved to check the state of Aramis' feet. He paled at the sight of fresh blood trickling forth from the cut Lemay was probing.

"Can you get the lamp here d'Artagnan?" Lemay spoke without looking up.

Porthos wordlessly handed his task over to Constance and grabbed the lamp before his young friend could move.

"I got this, step outside for a while d'Art it'll do you good." He said.

It eased his frayed nerves to have the younger man complying with his request. One of them suffering was more than enough; Porthos wouldn't have d'Artagnan tearing up his stomach out of some masochistic sense of duty.

As the young man exited the room Porthos took up position by Lemay. It was a long tedious process, the hours ticked away with the clink of glass shards against the metal bowl. Athos had taken over the task at Aramis' back while Constance helped Lemay, wiping away the fresh blood as the tweezers dug out the pieces that Porthos was sure embedded this deep only because his friend had walked on the injury.

He was so lost in the process that it took him a while to register the hand on his shoulder.

"I can take over for a while," Athos said when their eyes met.

Porthos shook his head; he couldn't give up his position. He mused that it was a childish notion but he could not hand over the lamp to Athos, he would stay right there holding the light in place, steady and bright until the last of the cut was sewed close.

"Alright," Athos patted his arm, "I think the antibiotic is almost at an end Constance,"

The young woman squinted at the bottle hanging on the other end of the IV line and got up with a nod, handing her place over to Athos.

By the time they had patched up their friend night had long since set in. Lemay swiped the last of the trash into the shopping bag as Athos and Constance changed the bedcovers, while Porthos held his friend in his arms. With all the wounds bandaged and sewn Aramis somehow looked worse off and for once the white bandages over bruised skin turned Porthos' stomach.

"That joint would be better off x-rayed and so would his ribs," Lemay pulled off his gloves and added them to the trash, "he needs to be in a hospital."

"He needs to be around people he can trust," Athos replied as the two of them came to stand together, "Thank you for everything George."

"I have a five years old at home who would be really upset if I didn't help her fairy godmother," Lemay snorted.

Porthos couldn't hold back the chuckle at the thought of that particular scene they had come upon. Aramis in a tiara, wearing plastic wings and brandishing a short glittery magic wand had even set Athos laughing.

Porthos sat on the edge of the bed and brushed back the damp curls from his friend's forehead. The man had actually been proud of his getup and despite all the teasing Porthos had heaped on him, he too was proud of the way his friend had helped a frightened toddler.

"Besides, after what you all did for my wife there's no way I could turn away from helping you three." Lemay shrugged.

"Still, we are grateful for your help," Porthos added.

Lemay waved it away and motioned towards the bags set on the desk.

"There are bandages, ointments and pain relievers although I doubt he'd take them," he said, "Once this round of IV antibiotics ends you can start him on the oral regiment I've charted out. And I know how hard it will be, but keep him completely off his feet for at least two days. The left foot isn't as bad as the right but it could still lead to ligament damage. He can use crutches to hop around after that but keep that to minimum and keep the feet elevated to stave off the swelling."

"So he gets to run us ragged then relax with his feet up while we slave away, nothing new there," Athos shrugged.

"I have a feeling it wouldn't be that easy to make him relax with his feet up," Constance looked amused.

"He'll whine and moan and be fully the brat that he is," Porthos shrugged as he tangled his fingers in his friend's hair, "but he's our brat."

"That he is," the corner of Athos' lips curled up in a fond smile.

"Since you all would need any help you can get in the foreseeable future I can drop off some food when I'll come by in the morning with the crutches." Constance nodded as she tied close all the trash bags.

Porthos looked up at her; he was sure the immense gratitude he felt must have showed on his face because Constance blushed and raised a challenging brow.

"You don't have to –" Athos began.

" 'Course I do, I'll be coming by before my shift to get rid of this IV anyway;" the young woman cut off Athos' words, "we're friends right?"

"Of course!" Porthos and Athos agreed in union.

Constance laughed and Lemay snickered. The doctor took his leave and Constance shook her head when the two of them made to follow her out. Her smile was warm with understanding.

"You two stay with him," she said, "I'll have a few words with d'Artagnan and head out. See you in the morning."

Porthos watched her leave, he knew Athos had planned to check on their youngest but they silently agreed that Constance would do him more good than either of them could.

* * *

He had closed the bathroom door behind him softly and then purged his stomach with every effort to keep the sounds to minimum. It was hard to bite down on the groans since he had dry heaved mostly. Anything that he had had in his stomach, he had thrown up at the first sight of Aramis' injuries.

He knew his friends believed it was the blood, but it was not. Not the way they thought it to be.

D'Artagnan flushed the toilet and rinsed the sour taste from his mouth before splashing some water on his face. He couldn't get the image of his friend, terrified and hurt, out of his memory. Try as he might d'Artagnan couldn't wrap his mind around the creature that was Aramis' father. He wasn't naïve, he knew there were good and bad people in the world but what he couldn't understand, what he hated was the kind of a father that man was to his son.

And then there was that damned key. That key that d'Artagnan was supposed to have.

Needing to do something, anything, but not ready to face his friends d'Artagnan stalked down the corridor and stripped Aramis' bed. He soaked the blood stained covers in the bathtub; set the boots in the bathroom to clean later, scrubbed the blood off his fried's discarded clothes and then tossed them in the laundry. Armed with a handful of washcloths, soap and water spray he attacked the streaks of blood on the carpet in Aramis' room.

He was on his hands and knees, absorbed in his task, scowling in triumphant contempt as each purplish red stain dimmed and disappeared when he almost jumped at the feeling of a slim hand on his shoulder. Wiping aside the sweaty bangs with the back of his hand he stared up at Constance.

"Meet me in the kitchen when you're done," she said.

It took him over fifteen more minutes to finish what he had started and he was still feeling restless as he sank into a chair at the kitchen island. Placing his elbows on the cool surface he dropped his head in his hands and tried to ignore the weight he could feel pushing on his shoulders.

A mug full of sweet thick chocolate milk slid under his nose.

He looked up with a start and Constance smiled as she raised her own mug in silent companionship. Her smiles had always been infectious to him and d'Artagnan felt a grin pulling at his lips. He sniffed the delicious aroma and looked to the young woman before him in something akin to wonder.

"This is Aramis' special chocolate blend, how did you find it?" he asked.

The man had been extremely secretive of his stash and d'Artagnan had taken it as a sort of a challenge to find it; until one morning Athos and Porthos had woken up and had been clearly not amused at the sight of the upturned kitchen, while Aramis had simply howled with laughter at d'Artagnan's explanation.

"He told me about his hiding place a while ago," Constance shrugged although her eyes were bright with glee, "us sweet-tooths have to stick together."

"He told you about my treasure hunt through the kitchen didn't he?" d'Artagnan shook his head, "I can't believe he told you that _**and**_ he told you where he kept it."

Constance laughed and he found his breathing ease at the sound. They finished their drinks in companionable silence. Constance rinsed her mug, wiped her hands and came around the counter.

"What's wrong d'Artagnan?" she asked, "aside from the obvious."

"It's the key," he found the words slipping out without hesitance, "Aramis was kidnapped and tortured over a key that I have – that I'm supposed to have. He shouldn't have had to go through that Constance, it's not fair."

For a fleeting second he was afraid of what she'd think of his childish declaration, but the amazing woman that she was, she simply put her arms around his shoulders and hugged him. He quivered in her hold and pressed his face in her stomach when hot tears burned against his eyelids. There was so much hovering over him like a giant wave about to crash and d'Artagnan felt her as the only safe dock in sight. He wrapped his arms around her waist and just held on.

They stayed like that for minutes, hours, days, d'Artagnan couldn't tell. He did know that for the moment his troubles were pushed at bay. He pulled away from her but not completely, with his arms still around her he looked up at the young woman d'Artagnan was sure he was in love with.

"You're magic," he said, "you're absolutely magic."

Constance smiled indulgently even as pink streaks appeared on her cheeks. She combed a hand through his hair and grinned.

"And you need a wash," she said.

Raising a hand to his hair d'Artagnan grimaced at the limp texture. Constance laughed at his scrunched face and stepped out of his hold. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"He'll be fine you know, he'll be sore and hurting for a while but in time Aramis will be fine." She said.

D'Artagnan nodded, finding immeasurable comfort in her words, in her presence and optimism.

"Now you need to go be with your friends and I need to head home," Constance added and wagged a finger at him as he tried to get to his feet, "And don't you dare ask me if you could drop me home. I can find my way d'Artagnan."

And he didn't doubt that for a second. So he nodded and sat back down even though he wanted to accompany her home, the hour being late. She collected her things and with a small wave and promise to see him in the morning Constance left the flat.

Still smiling a little, d'Artagnan got to his feet and after rinsing his mug at the sink he locked the front door and went to Porthos' room where he knew his brothers awaited.

* * *

His eyelids fluttered, they brushed open and close in a few trial attempts before his blurry vision cleared. The first thing he saw was Athos. His friend was asleep on the floor with his back against the side table and an arm draped over the bed. His hand inches from Aramis' own.

Aramis stared for a while at the bandage that spoke of an IV needle having stuck in the back of his hand sometimes in the recent past. He frowned at having no recollection of it and shifted against the pillows under his back. He was lying tilted slightly onto his side and by the soft snores that he could hear, Aramis was quite sure that it Porthos sleeping behind him.

D'Artagnan.

Aramis swung down his feet and sat up in one fluid motion. The entire room lurched with his effort and his heartbeat thrummed wildly as he tried to locate their youngest in his memory. The last he had seen him, d'Artagnan was alive and safe and with them.

An abrupt snuffling followed by a broken snort had him glancing sideways. A relieved smile touched his lips at the sight of the younger man sleeping in the chair near the foot of his bed. Aramis closed his eyes and channeling his sniper training forced his breathing to slow down.

He ached.

Swiping a badly shaking hand over his face he took stock of the damage. It looked like all the places he was torn and frayed in were sewed up and bandaged; if only his exhausted mind could be so neatly stitched back from where it was bursting at the seams. Rubbing the back of his neck Aramis let go of that train of thought and eyed the door.

Taking care to not disturb his worn out friends he stiffly rose to his feet. The abused muscles of his back clenched excruciatingly as a vicious stab of pain shot up from his feet. Biting his lip to keep from crying out loud he took a moment to find his equilibrium.

Yes he was broken.

Again.

He was broken in mind and body and it was a familiar state. But Aramis did not shatter.

He reminded himself of that, he did not shatter, he did not give in and he damned well wasn't going to give up on a trip to the toilet simply because it hurt to walk. Still, the trek to the bathroom had never been that long nor so agonizing before.

It was when he was washing his hands that in complete earnestness of the phrase; all hell broke loose.

Yells and growls and crashing of furniture getting tipped over echoed in the flat followed by rapid footfalls and banging doors. Worried that they were under attack Aramis threw open the bathroom door.

Three pair of eyes stared blankly at him.

Athos had his mobile phone out in one hand and his gun in the other. Porthos was clutching car keys while he had a pillow tucked under his arm and bed sheet tangled at his feet, which he shared with d'Artagnan where the young man was sprawled on the floor wielding a crutch.

"What?" Aramis asked.

D'Artagnan was clearly sleepy and confused but Athos lowered his mobile phone and gave Aramis a murderous look. Porthos stalked over to him looking just as livid.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he growled loudly and before Aramis could even open his mouth to reply he was swept off his feet.

"What the hell! Porthos let me down!" he nearly shouted.

"Shut up you stupid moron!" Porthos shouted right back at him.

"Lemme go you big lug! I'm not a freakin' damsel in distress!"

"I'll give you distress you bloody idiot!"

For all the screaming going on Porthos was almost tender in his movements as he set Aramis down on the bed. Then he crossed his arms before his chest and glared at him. Aramis wasn't afraid, he could never be afraid of his brothers but he was thoroughly confused.

"What'd I do?" he looked up at the big man.

"What'd you do? What'd you –? You idiot!"

"I think we've established that," Aramis nodded.

"It needs to be repeated. You stupid idiot!" Athos added as he cuffed him on the back of the head.

It wasn't hard but Aramis scowled and the hand at the back of his head drifted through his hair in a gentle ruffle.

"I'm pretty sure you've shaved off a couple of years from our lives." Athos said as he sat beside him.

Porthos crouched before Aramis and clasped his arms above the bandaged wrists.

"Don't you ever dare to disappear like that again," he said.

"Is he okay?" d'Artagnan stared in a sleepy sort of bewilderment from the doorway, "Did he rip out the stitches? Should I get fresh bandages? Should I get Lemay? Constance?"

It would have been funny if his friend's hadn't been earnestly worried for his wellbeing. Aramis shook his head slowly.

"I'm fine, didn't pull out any stitches." He assured the younger man, "but why are you carrying a crutch d'Art?"

Aramis frowned as he racked his brain for any injury he might have overlooked in their youngest.

D'Artagnan blinked at the object in his hand as though just realizing it was there.

"This is for you," he pointed out, "not for now but – uh – later. I'll get you soup!"

There was something wrong in the way the younger man was regarding him. It dawned on Aramis that d'Artagnan was subtly avoiding eye contact, so he dropped his gaze as well and let the younger man scurry off. Feeling suddenly unsure, Aramis shifted a little bit away from Athos beside him and with a pat on Porthos' hand he pulled his arms out of his grasp.

"Aramis?" Porthos frowned.

"How did you know about the Cardinal and all?" he asked.

"We'll tell you but you need to lay down first," Athos pointed out.

"I'm fine," Aramis slipped out of the hand that had come to rest lightly on his shoulder.

"No you're not," Porthos pointed out, "you gotta get the pressure off your feet."

With a harsh jerk Aramis scooted back and pulled his legs up. It had him gritting his teeth but his face remained blank otherwise. He couldn't lean back against the head board for the lack of incline that his exhausted muscles craved yet sitting without support was an agony to his aching back.

"You were saying?" he turned to his friends.

As his friends explained all that they had uncovered in his absence Aramis let his mind drift back over the years. He listened as his friends explained how his father's influence had spread like a tumor in all the lives Aramis had come into contact with. It showed why d'Artagnan couldn't look him in the eye, not when he was the reason and the son of the man who had murdered his father. That had been the end of the life the younger man had known, so Aramis wasn't surprised by his reaction.

It was a bitter realization to him to know that for all his efforts to be Aramis, he would always be Rene d'Herblay.

"Why's this evidence so important?" Aramis asked, "You said Cluzet is keeping a record of proof as well, what makes this hard drive so special?"

He had been musing out loud and had actually expected his friends to come up with theories; he hadn't expected them to lapse into heavy silence. Aramis caught the silent conversation between his friends.

"What?" he asked.

"This evidence is personal for Senior," Athos shrugged lightly, "it has footage of your daily lives."

Aramis felt a shudder pass through his body as bile rose to his throat. He had never imagined, he had never thought, never assumed that there would be a proof of the hell he had gone through. Unbidden the image of a swirling yellow dress flashed in his mind.

"Aramis?" Athos sounded worried.

"Does it –? Is there footage of –?" Aramis shook his head, "I think Senior murdered my mother," he breathed out.

"You knew that?" Porthos sounded somewhere between horrified and pained.

Aramis shook his head but stopped at the headache spiking behind his eyes, he hadn't known that, or he hadn't remembered knowing that. But the words spoken out loud brought an onslaught of cracked images cutting into his mind.

"I remembered," he murmured, "not fully, just flashes. In his study, it happened in his study."

"Don't go into that Aramis," Athos warned, "let it go."

But he could not, not when the chipped pieces fell into place and formed a jerky memory of that day; the memory that had been pushing to surface ever since he had stepped back into Senior's study. His mother in a pool of her blood, the shadow that he knew was Senior even though there were no features and pain.

He gasped and lost his hold on it.

All eyes turned to d'Artagnan as he came in with a bed tray laden with a steaming bowl of soup.

"Constance made this for you," he announced as he set it on the bed and backed up, "I'll see to our breakfast."

This time around Aramis himself couldn't look the boy in the face but he watched him go with a strange sense of bereavement and guilt. Shoving it aside Aramis forced himself to take a calming breath and ignore the way the other two men were staring at him.

He was fine.

Aramis sniffed the soup and feeling surprisingly hungry he grasped the spoon. To his utter astonishment his hand shook so badly that the contents of the spoon spilled back down even before he could raise it an inch from the bowl. He dropped it back in surprise.

His hands never shook, at least not when he ordered them to stop.

Was it any wonder that his father had taken over his life when Aramis couldn't even command his own trembling fingers? Clenching his hands into fists despite the bandages and pain Aramis tried to reinforce his control. He was so focused on his task that he didn't register when the bed tray was picked out of his reach.

He startled when he felt the bed dip behind him. Porthos settled behind him and before Aramis could protest he felt the tug of being pulled back. He would have resisted had he been able to.

"No, I'm fine Porthos." He insisted.

"Sure you are," his friend agreed but didn't let up until he had pulled Aramis against his chest.

"Porthos let me go,"

"Nope," Porthos wrapped his arms around him and rested his chin atop Aramis' head for good measure.

It was an unbelievably safe feeling and his own heartbeat instinctually fell into pace with his brother's thumping under his ear. Aramis relaxed despite himself. His breathing felt lighter and the soft incline with him tilted a little onto his side eased the ache in his back.

Something warm touched his lips and Aramis' eyes flew open. He started for long minutes at the spoonful of soup Athos held out to him. It was the last straw to his shredded dignity and Aramis' gaze dropped at the acceptance of his own weakness.

He was truly pathetic.

A warm hand cupped the side of his face and tipped it up. Aramis couldn't stop the tear that escaped him. Athos' thumbed it away with an exasperated eye roll. His friend looked him in the eye and gave a slight shake of his head.

"Stop it Aramis," he said, "there's nothing wrong in leaning on your brothers."

"I can't be this weak," Aramis shook his head, "I can't."

"You're not," Porthos' voice rumbled against him.

"How many times have you watched over Porthos when he was too concussed to see straight? How many times have you held me while I purged myself after my drunken stupors?" Athos demanded with steel in his voice, "Do not deny us this Aramis."

A sound somewhere between a sob and a snort escaped him. These men were the corner stone of his sanity. He couldn't fathom what he would do without their kindness, which they extended to him time and time again, forced it relentlessly until he stopped shying away and accepted it.

"Stop thinking so loud," Porthos grumbled.

"Brooding is strictly my domain," Athos nodded.

Aramis wiped away the moisture from his eyes and managed a shaky grin. It wasn't long before he had finished the soup and nodded off under the watchful eyes of his brothers.

* * *

It had been five days; things had been going surprisingly smooth, at least on the surface. They had settled in a comfortable rhythm as he and Aramis worked around each other in a skittish sort of cordialness while Athos and Porthos tried to understand what was going on. Not for the first time d'Artagnan sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the hard drive in the plastic bag he clutched in his hand.

It was a useless piece of computer hardware unless he could access it, yet d'Artagnan wondered how this little object had been the reason of so much destruction.

"You've been cooped up in here all day. If you stop dwelling on it every second it might come to you," Athos walked up to him.

"I've thought of everything I can remember of those days leading up to –" d'Artagnan shook his head, "he never gave me anything that could be anything remotely bearing a decryption code. "

"Porthos and I are going to work on a project, care to join us?" Athos asked.

"I need to remember Athos," d'Artagnan waved in the direction of the scribbled sheets of paper strewn over his bed, "I've been making lists of where he went, what he said before –"

For so long d'Artagnan had been trying to shut away the emotions that came from the thought of his father, but now he had to examine each and every piece of those ignored memories. It was like going through a bundle of raw nerves with a thorny fine toothed comb.

"You need a break,"

"NO I DON'T!" d'Artagnan drew a hand threw his hair and pulled at the strands that he had caught, "please Athos, I can't afford to not have that key."

Athos nodded although d'Artagnan could tell that he wanted to add something. Feeling entirely too restless and useless at the same time, the younger man lurched to his feet and began shuffling through his notes with his back pointedly turned towards his friend.

Even though he had wanted it, it still hurt to hear the man walk out of his room.

Angry tears burned in his gaze as he fisted a handful of notepapers and crumpled them with vengeance. The hard drive in his other hand weighed heavy and in a moment of sheer frustration d'Artagnan hurled it across his room. It hit the musket case set near the far wall and smashed through its glass, pushing the musket off its wooden base.

In the silence that followed he stood there breathing heavily and it wasn't a surprise when he heard someone enter the room behind him.

"I said I don't need a break Athos!" he swung around with a frown.

"Can we talk?" Aramis asked.

He didn't want this, not right now, but Aramis didn't give him a chance as he crutched over his way to the younger man's bed. If his back or his hands hurt with the use of his current necessity for mobility Aramis didn't let it show.

"I'm tired Aramis,"

"But you said you didn't need a break," a teasing smile flashed on his face but disappeared all too quickly.

The withdrawn, quite figure that his friend had become was a painful thing to watch for d'Artagnan. He had never assumed that he would miss the man's incessant banter and yet his life had been all too silent these past days. The quite in the flat was a haunting presence.

Aramis looked at him from where he had taken a seat on his bed, he had carried with him afolder and on top of it were ID tags.

"I've never been afraid of the dark," Aramis said.

D'Artagnan felt his brows reach his hairline in surprise, but his curiosity was piqued and he waited for his friend to continue.

"People like Marsac and I, we're never afraid of the dark." Aramis rubbed the ID tags between his thumb and his finger, "It's a part of us, or we're a part of it. We can wander in it, survive it and become the monster lurking in the shadows. We need someone to be our light and to show us the way. Marsac lost his way in SAVOY, he was so far gone yet in the end –"

Aramis shook his head and stared down at the ID tags in his hand.

"He became a monster because of my father's actions and I can't apologize to him for that." He tapped the folder he had set beside him, "twenty men dead because of my father's actions and I can't apologize to them. Victor became a monster out of my father's work, Mrs. DuVallon lost so much, your father was murdered, Isabelle was hurt and we lost our –" Aramis waved a hand at the room and swallowed thickly.

"You're a good man d'Artagnan and you, Athos, Porthos; you all keep me from wandering off the path. And I understand that you're angry at me for what my father did but all I can offer you is that I'm sorry." Aramis looked him the eyes, direct, honest and a bit desperate; "If there is any way for me to go back and stop all this from happening I'd do it. I'm sorry you lost your father because of me."

"You think I blame you for my father's murder?" d'Artagnan stared.

"You don't?"

This was getting ridiculous in the younger man's opinion.

"I don't Aramis," d'Artagnan shook his head, "you're a victim in all this as much as anyone else, maybe even worse."

Aramis wasn't convinced, it was clear in the frown on his face. With a sigh d'Artagnan hooked the chair by his desk with his foot and pulling it around he straddled it. Crossing his arms over the edge of the backrest he regarded the man.

"I don't blame you, I blame myself."

Speaking it out loud was strangely relieving. Rubbing the back of his neck d'Artagnan winced at the knots he found there and forced himself to string together his own scattered thoughts.

"What are you to blame for?" Aramis' eyes were comically wide and d'Artagnan had to suppress a smile.

"You were kidnapped for the deciphering key, the key my father programmed." D'Artagnan explained, "The key I was supposed to have. It should have been me Victor had taken."

Aramis shook his head.

"You don't have it either but he wouldn't have been convinced and he would have…." Aramis trailed off, "you don't know how thankful I am that it wasn't you at his mercy."

"But what he did to you, he – he –," d'Artagnan searched for the right word.

"Broke me?" Aramis' smile was dry like desert sand, "there's a difference between breaking and breaking apart mon frère."

He motioned towards the mess of glass shards in the corner of d'Artagnan's room.

"That is breaking apart and I've never gone that far," he said, "having good friends holding you together keeps that from happening."

D'Artagnan pushed to his feet as that same agitation thrummed in his bones again; he trekked up and down the room, shaking his head as he went. He couldn't help but feel that he could have done something; that he could still do something. The young man knew in that moment that he would never be able to rest until he had ended what his father had started.

D'Artagnan would bring down Senior, he would do it for all the lives he had destroyed, he would do it for his father and he would do it for the men he called his brothers.

"If such a key exits and if you've ever come across it then I'm sure that brain of yours would spit out its location sooner or later." Aramis assured him.

"I hope its sooner," d'Artagnan stopped walking, "I don't want to lose this."

"Lose what?"

"This, us, you," d'Artagnan waved a hand between them, "when I get lost in my work and forget to eat and sleep, Porthos leaves me snacks where he knows I can reach for them without thinking, Athos knows the second I drop off in an exhausted nap and he makes sure that I'm as comfortable as I can be and that nothing disturbs the short rest. What do you do Aramis?"

Aramis considered the question in silence until he finally shrugged at apparently having come up blank.

"You threaten to pour any nearby liquid over my laptop; you steal its batteries and wave my laptop out the window to get me to take a break," d'Artagnan hoped the man understood what he was trying to say, "I never had that, no one ever took such liberty with me. I don't want to lose it."

A slow smile, if still a shadow of his original one, appeared on Aramis' face.

"I didn't know you liked my violent disposition towards your belongings that much hermanito,"

"Well no I don't; not that way. Stay away from stuff."

"But you want me to throw it out the window,"

"I'm serious Aramis don't touch my laptop,"

"I won't touch it I swear, it'd be the juice Athos keeps bringing me."

"Don't you dare,"

Aramis grinned and d'Artagnan felt his own answering smile pulling at his face. On an impulse he crossed the distance between them and crouching down he wrapped his friend in a hug. A soft chuckle of surprise escaped Aramis but d'Artagnan grinned wider when his friend hugged him back.

It was with an incredibly lighter heart when they exited the room with Aramis choosing to lean on him instead of the crutch as they made it to the lounge. The spectacle there stopped them short in their tracks.

The furniture of the lounge was arranged near one of the corners and draped with an assortment of bed sheets. D'Artagnan frowned when he saw Porthos crawl out from under the hollow that the sheets had made, and get to his feet with a grin on his face. It made Athos turn in their direction too from where he was examining the sturdiness of what d'Artagnan assumed to be the broomstick poking out from under the canopied sheets.

"Blanket fort!" Aramis laughed from beside him, "I can't believe you made a blanket fort."

But it wasn't disbelief with which Aramis moved forward, it was purely delight. D'Artagnan understood why his friends had apparently regressed to their childhood. He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation as Aramis all but dragged him over to the mouth of the fabric made hollow.

"C'mon you have to see this; we used to make the best forts with the dining table at Porthos' home. Athos is an expert in draping the sheets!" Aramis pulled at him until he conceded to follow the older man in the cave.

It was the most alive d'Artagnan had seen his friend in days. And that night as the four of them squeezed in together to sleep in that fort, the younger man found it not constricting as he had assumed but rather a sense of security enveloped him.

Deep into the night d'Artagnan's mobile phone buzzed with an incoming call. It vibrated and lit up on his bed in his room but for those hours the young man was blissfully unawares that the tsunami he had felt hovering over his head was about to make landfall in his life.

* * *

 **Well that was a long one...**

 _ **mon frère [French] my brother**_

 _ **hermanito [Spanish] little brother**_

 **THANK YOU all who read, follow and favorite this story. THANK YOU everyone who take the time to leave me your kind thoughts, it makes my day to know your thoughts on the story.**

 **Endless Hazard: I loved your idea of the four of them meeting as children. I can't see it getting worked into the story at the moment but I would love to give it a try, a short fluffy piece, when I can get around to writing it. Thank you for the inspiration.**


	17. Chapter 17

He woke up to the feeling of snoring, not the sound of snoring but the feeling as it vibrated through him. That was not all that befuddled his sleep addled brain, there was also a mass of dark curls inches from his face and d'Artagnan managed a sleepy glare its way. He bit back surprised squeak as something shifted behind him and he became instantly aware that he was being held like a favorite teddy by Porthos. The big man had wound an arm across his chest while his other crossed over not only d'Artagnan's waist but Aramis' as well and came to a stop with the hand clutching at Athos' shirt. It was almost as if even in his sleep Porthos was making sure none of them slipped away.

As endearing as that was d'Artagnan decided that he would very much like to breathe fully, and that meant loosening the hold over his ribs. He squirmed a bit, wriggled and tugged until he blew out a breath against Aramis' hair in pent up frustration.

It was then that he saw the blue eyes locked on him.

There was so much amusement in Athos' gaze that d'Artagnan grinned even as he rolled his eyes.

"Any words of advice oh great tactical one?" he asked.

"You see why I chose the end of this pile," Athos nodded down to where Aramis was burrowed into his side, "And you thought they were grabby when they were awake," the older man smirked.

"I think I've cracked a rib," d'Artagnan pushed at the arm around his chest, his eyes widening when Porthos shifted a little onto his back and pulled up the younger man with him.

Athos exhaled a quite laugh and tapped with his finger onto the hand clutching his shirt. The death grip eased off his shirt instantly, the arm turning to curl around Aramis instead. It was like watching a well programmed unlocking mechanism for d'Artagnan as Athos tapped on the arm holding the younger man and it slipped lose instantly. He frowned when Athos motioned for him to get out of the way and as d'Artagnan slid back from the gap he had previously occupied, he watched Athos rub Aramis' back. The man responded by shifting on his other side, letting go of Athos, and burrowing into Porthos instead.

It was nothing short of wonder d'Artagnan decided especially since both the other men were still deeply asleep. He looked up from the two and caught Athos smirking at him.

"See how well I trained them?" he said.

It took an effort for d'Artagnan to keep from laughing out loud and chuckling under his breath, he followed Athos as they crawled out from under the draped bed sheets. Stretching and yawning wide he scratched his back and padded over to his room, as Athos move down the hallway towards the bathroom. It was a unanimously declared rule that d'Artagnan showered last, he didn't have the army training to finish off washing in three minutes, a fact the other three had quickly realized after finding the hot water depleted one too many times.

Grinning at the memory of Porthos cursing up a storm on one such occasion d'Artagnan began rummaging for clothes. He was sniffing a shirt to judge its viability when his eyes drew to the smashed glass case by the far wall.

His shoulders slumped as d'Artagnan picked his way through the glass shards and retrieved the hard-drive. Tossing it onto his bed, he bent and grasped the musket that had fallen off its base. He ran his fingers over the barrel hoping he had not damaged the only family heirloom he had left. Thumbing clean the strip of silver on the barrel bands he settled the musket against his shoulder and stared down the barrel with one eye, taking aim.

He had always wanted to do that.

With a rueful smile d'Artagnan lowered the musket; he frowned at the barely audible clunk and swung the musket back up. There it was again, a soft rattle that wouldn't be heard if it was not this quite in the flat. With his heart beating against his chest d'Artagnan examined the musket carefully, his roaming fingers swiped over every inch until he felt a rough edge in the wood running a short length of the slope of the stock. Turning it over the young man squinted at the incision in the wood that was hidden by the polish over the surface.

To d'Artagnan's surprise it wasn't one incision but four, joining to make a small rectangle that would have been invisible had he not been tilting the musket at an angle towards the light. He gently stuck a fingernail in one of the cuts and leveraged it up. His eyes widened when the entire rectangle came off with only a little force; and there in the tight hollow of the wood was a black pendrive.

He couldn't believe it; he couldn't believe he had found it.

Depositing the musket on his bed d'Artagnan hurried out of his room.

"Athos! Athos I think this is it!" he rushed down the hallway then back up to the lounge, "Athos where are you? Look! Athos look!"

His friend in question hastened to his side as the other two woke up and straight onto their feet, taking the majority of their blanket fort with them in a mighty clatter. The youngest grinned as he held up the pendrive while Athos looked torn between taking a closer look at it or helping his friends who were wrangling with the bed sheets.

"What? What happened?" Porthos demanded as he freed his head and stopped mid struggle.

"I think I found the key," d'Artagnan beamed.

The two men stared at him in a disbelieving silence; it would have been a solemn moment if Aramis hadn't still been stumbling around in the bed covers like a particularly foul mouthed child playing at being a ghost.

About an hour later the other three were still staring at the USB drive with hesitant skepticism as they convened at the kitchen counter. There was no confusion in d'Artagnan's mind, he could see it all now; his father knew that the musket was the one thing d'Artagnan would fight to keep close no matter what his future held for him. And he had set the ancient weapon in the case only a week before he was murdered.

"It was with you all along," Aramis shook his head.

"So can we decode the evidence now?" Porthos asked.

"I don't have the right equipment to access the hard drive here," d'Artagnan said.

"You could do that at the office," Athos offered.

"The Cardinal has his agents there," Aramis reminded them.

"We could go to Leon," Porthos said.

"But we're not sure if it is the decryption code," said Athos.

"I'm sure it is," d'Artagnan wrapped his fingers around the pendrive and picked it up from the counter, "I'll take the hard drive with me and we can leave them both with Leon."

He had just hopped off his chair when someone knocked on the door. Frowning at the early hour and wondering if Constance had taken off early from her shift, d'Artagnan went to answer the door. Pocketing the USB drive, he pulled open the door and stepped back immediately. The shiny muzzle of the weapon trained on him didn't shift as the man entered the flat.

"Who's at the d –" his three friends stopped short in the lounge.

The men in dark suits poured in from the door weapons ready, and their flat suddenly felt incredibly tiny. D'Artagnan glanced from the four men focused his way to his brothers who were regarding the scene with an unhealthy amount of disinterest.

"I'd say it's not another one of your surprises," Aramis turned to the other two.

"You should know Porthos and I have a better taste then this," Athos replied.

"And our gun toting surprises would never include action flick extras like these," Porthos nodded.

"Excuse the overzealous inclination of my men, they get easily excited," the tall figure entered last and admonished the crowd before him, "please gentlemen we are guests at their home."

He shook his head as his men lowered their weapons only a little and settled on the lone armchair of their lounge. Cardinal Richelieu motioned to his men and d'Artagnan found himself hauled forwards. He raised his arms not in protest but to tell his brothers he was fine, he didn't want them testing the patience of the five men who had cornered the three.

"It's alright," he called as he was set down on the couch, "I'm fine."

"For now you are," Richelieu's smile was tight, "I'm sorry this is all unannounced but I did try to contact you. I've called on your number on and off all night long but you never answered."

"What do you want?"

"I think you already know," the Cardinal sat back and placing his elbows on the armrests he steepled his fingers, "hand it over Charles, there is no need to be a hero."

The pendrive in his pocket suddenly felt very heavy and it took conscious effort to not betray its location by brushing his hand over his shirt. Instead d'Artagnan crossed his arms before his chest and glared at the man.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he shrugged a shoulder.

"But you do," the Cardinal flashed him a smirk, "The test with Labarge proved that you are Alexander d'Artagnan's son, it was all the confirmation I needed of the information passed onto me. I wouldn't have bothered you in such a manner Charles, but we are in a bit of a bind. Victor is at large and he has the other half of this rather effective weapon against my superior. I cannot have him waltz in here and take the key from you."

"I don't have any key, for you or for him."

"I can't believe that and neither will he, the secret is out Charles," The Cardinal's smile was all teeth; "you should chose your enemies wisely."

"Are you threatening me Richelieu?" d'Artagnan pressed his hands on his knees and clenched them into fists to keep them from going at the man's throat, "are you going to murder me like you had my father murdered?"

"You are of use to us but we can employ other methods," Richelieu looked to the three men and raised a brow; "Rene is familiar with them, I'm sure he must have told you,"

It was the need to keep Aramis out of it that prompted d'Artagnan's words. He spoke before any of the three men could form a reply.

"I'll need time," he said, "to find it."

"You don't have much time I'm afraid, things are already in motion," the Cardinal stood up and handed him a piece of paper, "the time and place where you must bring it. And you should know Charles, we're watching you."

He stared at folded piece of paper as few of the Cardinal's men exited before the man. Before Richelieu could follow them out however, a new pair entered the flat. The Cardinal's eyes flashed in pleased amusement at the sight of Treville and Ninon.

"Here to break the news Captain?" Richelieu smirked, "I thought you'd have done that by now."

"The man you work for is loyal to no one Richelieu; he would turn on you on a whim and you'll deserve everything that comes your way." Treville snapped at him.

"I suggest you worry about your own future Captain," the Cardinal said, "I'll see you soon Charles," with that he swept out of the flat surrounded by his men.

* * *

He didn't see the door closing, he didn't notice the anger radiating from Treville, the confusion on Ninon's drawn face; he only moved to be by the side of the young man who sat staring at the folded piece of paper in his hand. Right then, with his shoulders hunched forward and head bent d'Artagnan looked nothing like the young man Athos had first met almost half a year ago.

He had no words to offer as he came to stand before the younger man while Porthos guided Aramis to sit beside their youngest on the couch. Athos held the boy by his shoulders and when the young face rose to meet his eyes there was enough confusion there to make Athos catch his breath.

"I can't give it to him," d'Artagnan shook his head, "but he'll come after you all if I don't."

"We'll find a way," Athos assured him.

"Besides there's no guarantee he'll back off even if you do hand over the decryption code," Aramis added.

"You're not helping 'Mis," Porthos muttered.

"I know how Senior's mind works," Aramis' smile was grim, "what has he done to you Captain?"

Athos saw fleeting surprise on Treville's face before the man managed to look Aramis in the eyes. It dawned on Athos that this was the first time the two were meeting after everything that had come to light; it didn't surprise him to note the guilt in the Captain's face nor the lack of blame in Aramis'.

"My license is under scrutiny for some reason and the company is on probation so to speak, but that's not why we're here," Treville nodded towards Ninon, "We need your help."

The three of them shared a surprised look and focused onto the woman in their midst. Ninon sat in the chair the Cardinal had vacated, she had shadows under her usually sharp eyes and her mouth was pursed in grim determination. She looked to the Captain and shook her head.

"I told you I'm going to confess," she said, "it's the only way."

"Confess to what?" Athos had to ask.

"Murders; Labarge, Adele and someone named Maria Bonnaire," Ninon pressed the bridge of her nose, "there might be more, I don't know."

"But that was Marsac," Porthos frowned.

Athos didn't miss the way the big man's eyes darted to Aramis and their friend stiffened imperceptibly, his shoulders squaring just a bit.

"You know who did it?" Ninon looked up at Porthos, "you think you can identify them?"

"He's dead," Aramis seemed to deflate, "but the three names you gave, I'm sure that was Marsac's work."

"Makes sense, that way there is no other suspect but me," Ninon's jaw clenched in frustration, "I just don't understand how they got those bullets matched to my rifle."

"The Cardinal has planted his people at our office," Porthos told her.

"What?" Treville looked from one man to the other, "I screened everyone I hired."

"I'm sure Rochefort is one of them," Aramis mused darkly, "he's just the sort Senior would invest in."

"But we're not sure," Athos reminded him, "Captain Treville found nothing suspicious about him."

"Do you have any proof that it was Marsac?" Ninon asked.

Aramis shook his head; "He was good at what he did," he said.

"Even if it meant being an assassin for hire," Athos couldn't help but add.

The man was dead and even then he was adding to their troubles.

"Maybe he had no choice," Aramis muttered.

"I'm sure they had a gun to his head," Athos rolled his eyes.

He did not expect Aramis to surge up to his feet looking like he was about to deck him. His friend's fists were clenched by his side but he dropped the glare and turned away; shuffling away from the couch before he crossed his arms in front of him and leaned back against the closed door.

"Don't joke about that," he ground out.

Porthos stepped into his view before Athos could say anything else and deep down Athos was grateful for the big man's intervention.

"I get that someone planted evidence against you but why are you agreeing to confess to a crime you didn't commit?" Porthos asked.

"They're using the 'other' methods," d'Artagnan sighed, "it's the Cardinal's work written all over it."

"They have Fleur, my cousin," Ninon said as she checked the watch on her wrist, "I have about three hours left before they…"

Athos watched d'Artagnan flick the paper in his hand before he raised it for Athos to read.

"So do I," said the younger man.

Athos read the time and place where their youngest had to meet Richelieu; they needed a plan, fast.

"I thought since you were there during the baby Henry case you could be the witness that Ninon was not in position to take the shot that took down Labarge," Trevilled turned to Aramis, "you're a sniper, your words would hold more weight concerning the matter."

"I'd be happy to help Captain but I'm afraid it wouldn't be enough,"

"But what does the Cardinal gain by framing Ninon?" Porthos frowned.

"The company's on probation, this'll be a hit to the reputation it had built over the years." Aramis answered in a hollow tone.

Athos knew he was thinking of another business that Senior had destroyed, one that was dearer to all three of them. They had to put an end to Senior's reign and Athos knew that it would start with the Cardinal. He thought over all they knew and a plan formed in his mind like a candle flame in pitch black.

"How fast can you programme a computer virus, a powerful one?" He asked d'Artagnan.

"Depends on a lot of things but I've got some basics lying about," their youngest didn't miss a beat although he looked surprised by the question, "it would take at least half an hour to tailor it though."

"Set the meeting with Richelieu in an hour," Athos told d'Artagnan, "he said he had called you so you'll have his number."

"Why'd I do that?"

"Because you will give him the decryption code," Athos raised a hand to stop the interruption he could see coming his ways, "he doesn't know what this code is supposed to look like but he will still run it to make sure that you're not handing him over a blank pendrive, the pendrive that will be carrying the virus you've built."

"It will tear down his security and I can hack into his system," d'Artagnan caught on, "but he could run it on a system that isn't his."

"They've been searching for this key for a while so I'm sure the Cardinal would send a copy to Senior, for that he will use his personal computer," Athos could see the plan taking shape, "you get access to it and if we're lucky of Senior's system as well. That would give us a two hour window to find out where they're keeping Fleur."

"What makes you think the Cardinal would wait two hours?" Porthos asked.

"Because he is arrogant enough to believe that he had Ninon trapped and because he wouldn't want Senior displeased by risking the opportunity to discredit Treville's company." Athos told them.

* * *

As he closed the door behind Treville and Ninon, Porthos couldn't keep from frowning. He had a bad feeling about the plan Athos had put forward but he knew that it was the best they could do in the short time they had. Senior was attacking hard and fast and it was the lack of time to plan that was bugging him, things were moving too fast for the big man's liking.

He trudged back and plopped down beside Aramis. D'Artagnan was busy typing away in his room, the rapid clickaty-clack of his flying fingers echoed out to them as Athos bent over the rough semantics he had drawn of the area where they were supposed to meet the Cardinal; it went unspoken that they wouldn't be letting their youngest out of their sight. Porthos leaned over the coffee table and pointed out the warehouses he knew were empty.

"The Court's been setting up in either of these three for the past week," he told his friend, "and I've been told it'll be so for two more days."

"You still keep track of their schedule?" Athos asked without looking up but circling the three boxes nevertheless.

"It's a lifelong membership," he grinned.

He didn't want to tell them that some days he wished he could go down to the Court of Miracles and let the out the stress that spread like melted lead through his bones. He had promised his Mum that he wouldn't go back to that life of violence but it was strangely comforting to know at least where the Court would be set up for the night.

From beside him Aramis shook his head.

"I don't like this," he said, "we're reacting, that's what Senior wants us to do."

"You got a better plan?" Porthos asked.

He had meant it to be rhetorical; he did not expect Aramis to regard him with a smirk and a glint in his eyes that forewarned his more insane plans. Porthos was shaking his head before his friend had said a word.

"We're going in blind, give me an hour for recon," he said, "I could get an idea where Richelieu is hiding Ninon's cousin and at least survey the dock he had called as the meeting point."

"I can't believe you still think going at it alone is the right thing." Athos spoke up.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Victor got to you because there was no one was watching your back," Athos said, "you told us that you assumed it was Marsac contacting you and your reckless stunt to go after him alone nearly cost you your life."

"I went after Marsac alone because I knew neither of you would join me," Aramis snapped.

"You couldn't have expected us to help a deserter," Athos snapped back.

"He was more than that," Aramis was on his feet, eyes flashing in anger.

Porthos stepped in front of him and raised his hands in a placating gesture. He had known it was coming, this explosion that had been gathering in their friend ever since he had identified Marsac as Labarge's assassin, Porthos had just not imagined it to be now.

"He would have been more than that, we're not denying it," he told their friend, "but that man left you to die."

"And I had the right to demand from him why he did that, I deserved a chance at that before you two went for his throat."

"He was coming to the Manor to take your life, he had his weapon trained on you when the police got there," Athos replied, cold fury colouring his voice.

"He was not going to –" Aramis drew a hand through his hair and Porthos found himself tracing the bandaged left hand, "He always palmed the bullet - he palmed the bullet this time too."

The pain and uncertainty that flickered in his eyes reminded Porthos of the time his friend had confessed that he remembered Marsac walking away. Hate for that man flared anew in Porthos' heart and he shook his head.

"You don't know that 'Mis," his voice came out rough against the emotions rising in his throat, "you couldn't have expected us to side with that man."

"Benefit of the doubt went out the window when he left you behind," Athos added, "we had no interest in what he had to say."

Aramis looked at Athos and then Porthos, the big man could have sworn that he had never seen his friend that shocked. But then it was the defeated sag in his shoulders as Aramis turned away from them that made Porthos' heart clench with worry.

He had a feeling they had missed something, something big.

Porthos glanced back at Athos then back at their friend who had sat back down. Aramis shook his head and didn't look their way.

"I wasn't asking you to side with him; I wanted you to stand by me," he said, "I wanted you to give me a chance, to hear me out; not him. I wanted you to believe in me not Marsac."

Porthos blinked as his friend's words sank in his mind. He had to wonder if that's what it looked like from the other end, if their reluctance to give Marsac a chance somehow reflected on the trust they had in Aramis. Yes it was a stupid move to go alone after what Aramis had believed to be Marsac contacting him, but could it all have been prevented if they had been just a bit more receptive of their friend's words, if they had showed patience and listened to what Aramis had to say on the matter.

Brushing a hand through his curls, Porthos squeezed the back of his neck to elevate the tension building there. He caught Athos' eyes and knew that the other man was going through the same revelation; it sickened Porthos to think that in a way they too had abandoned Aramis at the time when he had been especially sore over that same issue.

"I think this'll do," d'Artagnan came out with a pendrive in his hand and frowned at his friends, "what did I miss?"

"Nothing important mon frère," Aramis got to his feet, "I'll get my equipment."

"You're not going," Athos' words though blunt were soft, "you can't come Aramis not in this condition."

"Ofcourse I'm coming. I watch your back remember?"

"You shouldn't even be standing without the crutch," Athos shook his head, "you need to rest."

"I'll probably be lying on my stomach on a warehouse roof," Aramis waved away the concern; "you can't make me sit this one out."

"Lemay did say there was a risk of ligament damage in your foot," d'Artagnan pointed out although he didn't meet the dark eyes that turned his way.

Porthos found that neither could he, he couldn't look at Aramis in the face. The big man took his sidearm that Athos handed him and refused to look at their friend who stood watching them, his silence more loud then any protest he could have screamed. It was the right decision Porthos told himself, they couldn't let the man who was just on the road to recovery to risk furthering his injuries.

"Athos?" there was raw disbelief in Aramis' voice.

"I'm sorry Aramis," Athos reached forward and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"We'll be careful," d'Artagnan promised as he grasped the shocked man's arm for second, "I promise."

Porthos suddenly realized that the other two were out the door; he looked up to catch the wide brown eyes watching them go. He wanted to scream at the unfairness of it, he wanted to murder Senior for driving them to this point and he wanted to wrap his friend in a hug just to wipe away that disbelieving shock from his face.

"Porthos?"

He grasped his friend by the back of his neck and gave it a squeeze, still not looking him in the eyes.

"We'll be back in an hour," he said.

Porthos didn't wait for a reply as he stormed out of the flat and thundered down the stairs. No one said a word as he slammed the car door after him and it was a quite ride to the docks, his mind still lingering on the friend he had left behind. It was for his own good, Porthos assured himself, the man was still on pain medication and that was saying something if one really knew Aramis.

He started when the car rolled to a stop and caught Athos' eyes in the rear view mirror, there was guilt there too.

"We still have fifteen minutes to spare," Porthos looked away, "I'll take a round of the place and see if there are any traps."

He was out of the car before he had finished his sentence; Porthos needed some space to clear his head. He walked towards the block of warehouses, noting the numbers as he went, eyes scanning the area that wasn't much crowded at this early hour. As he turned the corner around the last warehouse Porthos stopped in his tracks at the sight of the figure sprawled on the ground.

With a hand on his sidearm he took in the apparently empty area, all was quite except for the wind broken occasionally by subdued chatter of people starting their day in the distance, while few smaller boats rocked on the water beyond. He picked on the footsteps behind him a second too late.

The impact at the back of his head reverberated all the way to his teeth and Porthos' knees buckled suddenly. Dark spots danced before his eyes as a shadow loomed over him, the big man knew he should move, that he should fight back, but his stomach roiled at the lurching world before his eyes.

When something wrapped around his hand Porthos tried to shove it off, but the grip was strong and he realized too late that it was grasping at his sidearm. Fingers wrapped around his hold on the weapon and forced him to depress the trigger. As the shot rang out, Porthos lost his hold on consciousness.

* * *

He shivered as he stepped out of the car and it was nothing to do with the cold snip in the air. Before him Porthos walked off without a backwards glance and he turned to his side to regard his remaining friend.

"He's mad at you," d'Artagnan noted.

"Yes," Athos sounded resigned, "but it had to be done."

He knew there was truth in those words but just like the rest of them, d'Artagnan knew he didn't have to like it. He hated it, this was their chance to get rid of the man that had tormented his friend all his life but they could not let Aramis play a part in it. D'Artagnan silently vowed that he would have his friend sitting beside him when he would hack into Senior's system and bring to light all his dark deeds.

"He is mostly out of sight for these things but it still feels strange knowing that he isn't there," Athos admitted as he eyed the vantage points, "I'm used to him being my eyes."

The younger man nodded, he hadn't even been a part of their group for long and even he could feel the world was unbalanced. Deciding to not dwell on it any longer, d'Artagnan took out the piece of paper the Cardinal had given him and began to move towards the broad wharf, keeping an eye on Porthos' retreating figure. Athos was still by the car, scanning their surroundings when a gunshot cracked through the air.

His heart skipped a beat and d'Artagnan turned towards where Porthos had disappeared. Only he never got the chance to dash forwards.

The cold sharp edge of the blade on his throat stopped him.

"Hello d'Artagnan," the woman behind him purred, "I heard you come bearing a gift for the Cardinal."

"Let him go!" Athos leveled his gun at the woman.

M'lady laughed and d'Artagnan flinched at the sound. He stopped in his attempt to escape when he saw the woman behind him raise her other hand that was holding a gun; it was trained on Athos. The younger man couldn't risk it, he couldn't fight back for his own safety when it could mean danger for Athos.

Licking his suddenly dry lips he forced himself to form words.

"So you're working for the Cardinal now?" he asked.

"Au contraire my young friend I'm working against him," she shifted and so did the blade in her grip.

D'Artagnan felt his chin raise as a reflex when the dagger coaxed a thin crimson line on his neck; it stung but didn't go any further. His eyes found Athos' and for a fleeting second he saw fear, but the older man's face remained blank and his voice steady.

"Let him go Anne,"

"I will if he hands over the decryption code," she said.

"Why do you need that?" d'Artagnan asked, surprised at the lack of waver in his own voice.

"It'll be my leverage to hold over the Cardinal," M'Lady smirked by his ear, "And you will give me that if you want to see your pretty lady again."

D'Artagnan froze.

Fear, crippling in its chill spread out in his chest. His heart beat in a rapid flutter as if it was trying to burst right out of his rib cage and his eyes stared ahead unseeing. The young man shook his head to clear his suddenly hazy vision.

"Not Constance," he breathed out.

"I'm afraid it is Constance," M'Lady murmured.

"I don't have it," d'Artagnan shook his head, "not here."

"LIAR!"

"Don't make me shoot you Anne," Athos voice held just a hint of desperation.

"I don't have it with me here, please; I'll give it to you. Just leave Constance out of it." D'Artagnan said.

He felt the woman lean closer to him; he could feel her smile stretch against the side of his face.

"You're lucky I trust you d'Artagnan," she grinned, "I'll send you the address."

It was a momentary shift, a change in her footing and an incline of her head and d'Artagnan reacted. He swung aside her outstretched arm just as she pressed the trigger. In that moment he didn't care if she sliced open his throat, all he saw was her firing weapon set on Athos.

His ears rang, pain lanced in his side and as d'Artagnan fell; he belatedly realized that he had heard two gunshots in that moment.

* * *

Not her, not her, not him, not this way.

Athos wished that it was just a trick of his mind, that it wasn't his wife standing with a dagger at d'Artagnan's throat. The weapon in his grip felt heavy, his hands were sweating and for a second this same woman standing over another dead little brother flashed before his eyes.

Athos shook his head, catching the shift in her grip at the last second.

A scuffle.

Two gunshots.

And Anne took a running dive into the water.

Athos watched her disappear and wiping the sweat from his forehead he let his gaze wonder back to d'Artagnan. His heart dropped at the sight of his young friend lying crumpled on his side. Shock and confusion warred in his mind even as he covered the distance between them.

"d'Art, what – oh!" his face paled when he eased the boy on his back.

"Athos, she has Constance, you have to –" his words drowned out in a scream.

"Sorry, sorry," Athos murmured as he pressed down at the hole in his friend's side.

He was shot, d'Artagnan was shot and the realization that it was him who had shot his friend hit Athos like a bullet to his own chest. He pressed down harder, murmuring apologies as the young man under his hand tried to curl onto himself. But it was a half hearted effort, Athos could see the strength drain from his young friend.

There was so much blood, too much blood; Athos swallowed thickly as he pressed harder. He looked around and realized they had garnered the attention of the public; he hoped someone had called in the ambulances.

Porthos wasn't in sight, Aramis wasn't there and he had just shot d'Artagnan.

" 'thos she has her,"

"Sshh… you'll be fine Tommy."

… _."It's Thomas; Oliviieerr…" he scrunches his nose and draws out his name in all the derision a twelve year old can manage…_

He couldn't stop the tears that came to his eyes and Athos looked down at the young face marred with pain. He had done this, d'Artagnan's blood was on his hands, Thomas' blood was on his hands; how many little brothers was he supposed to lose like this?

"Athos…"

"No d'Artagnan just hold on, don't do this," he pressed down on the wound, desperate to stop the red pool from spreading.

But there was no response from the younger man, not even a groan. The pained gasps had silenced and as his own blood pounded against his ears, Athos could hear the wail of a nearing ambulance.

* * *

 **Ruth, Endless Hazard and MusketeerAdventure called it and all of you were right, it seems d'Artagnan was the only one who couldn't see where the key was hidden :)**

 **Thank you everyone who read, favorite and follow this story. All of you who leave me your thoughts I want you to know they are doted upon and revisited too many times. And a special Thank You to the guest reviewers since I can't thank you each personally.**

 **This chapter is the start of the final arc of this story, just a few more chapters left...**


	18. Chapter 18

He had no idea how long he stood staring at the open door, his mind still trying to process what had just happened. Maybe they were right in that he was not fully healed, maybe he could do with a bit more rest; but he had no idea how his brothers could even imagine him relaxing while they were out in the line of fire. Did they think so little of the bond they had forged?

Aramis shook his head, partly to shake off that thought and mostly because he couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe that he had been left behind.

He couldn't believe he had been left behind by the men he called his brothers.

Their silence even after he had laid bare his pain spoke too loud of things that Aramis tried desperately to ignore. Years of friendship, of trust, of brotherhood fought back against the rising insecurity and the budding confusion where there had only been an implicit assurance before.

He pulled in a shaky breath and forced himself to not dwell on that hollow feeling spreading out in his chest, like a pulsing black hole that threatened to swallow him entirely. At its core was the old uncertainty, the old fear that he could be easily discarded. That same fear stirred in the recesses of his mind and settled in his bones, a heavy weariness that leeched at something in his heart.

Drawing a hand over his face, Aramis turned to get his equipment from his room. Everything else could be sorted later; right now his brothers needed him.

Zipping up his jacket, he grabbed his rifle case and pulled open the door only to stop short in surprise. Dressed in jeans and t-shirt she looked nothing like he had seen her before on the few occasions they had met. The young woman before him looked a bit shocked, big blue eyes looking just a bit panicked even as her face tinged red.

An involuntarily smile pulled at Aramis' face.

"Ms. Ostair?" he raised a brow, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

She looked from his face down to his bandaged hand that carried the long bag.

"You're leaving?" it wasn't much of a question.

"In a bit of a hurry actually," he nodded, "but I'm sure there's a good reason for you to come down here."

She nodded and stepped through the door he had backed away from. The young woman fumbled with the bag she wore on her shoulder and held out a manila envelope. It was heavy and lumpy; Aramis stared at the mobile phone that spilled out in his hand together with a small slip of paper.

"It's the password," Ms. Ostair said, "check the videos."

Aramis did, his eyes widening at the recording. It was shaky and the vantage point spoke of the clumsy angle that had been used for recording, still it was just what he needed at the moment. He watched on the small screen as Richelieu and Rochefort talked about confrontation between Labrage and a boy, but it was their discussion of having spotted Fleur that had Aramis grinning.

"Where did you find this?" he asked.

"It's Adele's" Ms. Ostair told him, "Pierre said that she had left the envelope with him on the condition that should something happen to her, he was to give it to me."

"You?"

"I don't have many friends while living with Louis but Adele was one of them," Ms. Ostair shrugged, "the day she – died – before she left she didn't have her mobile phone, she used mine to contact you."

"I've heard," he nodded.

"I didn't know what to do with this. I don't even know if or how this is important," the young woman told him, "but I thought I could share it with someone I can trust."

Her words surprised him but Aramis could not deny the warmth that curled in his lungs at her answer. Afraid that he might lose track of what he was supposed to do, the man went over the video again. As the screen blanked out he regarded the young woman.

"These flats they're talking about, do you know where they are?" he asked.

"The 'three flats'," she nodded, "they're three buildings actually, Louis bought them about a year ago to renovate and transform into a waterfront hotel. But he lost interest and well…"

"Can I have the address?"

"Sure," she noted it down for him on the paper he offered her.

"I think you and Adele just saved two lives," he grinned.

Her answering smile made his heart flip-flop down his stomach then up his throat.

"Maybe that's why she had it sent to me," Ms. Ostair said, "Adele would have wanted that."

With her work done the smile on her face dropped, her eyes wandered over the room and she fidgeted with the strap of her bag. The unsure air that settled over her seemed to diminish her stature.

"I should get going," she nodded more to herself than anything, "you wouldn't want to be late and Louis wants me to oversee that his things are properly packed for his flight and my brother would want to talk this evening –"

"And what does Anna want?" it slipped out before he could check it.

He had no right to ask, he was aware of that, but he couldn't help looking for the person that he knew was more than just Mr. Bourbon's fiancé. He had seen her in glimpses; the courage under her poise when he had first spotted her from the scope of his rifle, her spark when she had been pushed too far by Rochefort and now her sense of duty in fulfilling the unidentified task left to her by her friend. Aramis just knew there was a different Anna behind the one she portrayed to the world.

"I…should go," she turned around and hastened out of there without a backwards glance.

Aramis didn't stop her; a few months back he would have, with a smile and an observation. But now he was just too tired, it was a deep seated exhaustion he could not shake. He turned his attention to the mobile phone he had pressed to his ear.

"If I didn't know better I'd be thinking you had my office bugged," Leon said by the way of answering his call, "how did you know?"

"Know what?" Aramis frowned.

"Just come down to my office,"

"There's somewhere I have to be but I'm sending you a video, there's young woman's life at stake Leon –"

"It's Porthos,"

Two words that knocked the breath clear out of his chest. Aramis nodded, not realizing that he could not be seen by the man on the other end of the call. His grip tightened on the mobile phone and he nodded again.

"I'm on my way," he said.

* * *

He had kept up with the rolling stretcher, not paying much attention to the words flying over his head as he stayed close, still hoping that his friend would wake up. But d'Artagnan didn't even twitch, didn't protest the hands pressed against the wound in his side, didn't frown at the unknown faces around him and didn't gripe that he was fine _and get off Aramis…_

Athos stopped short as d'Artagnan's voice flashed through his memory.

He didn't know when and he didn't know how but the younger man had become a part of his normal, his inflections and expressions a part of his familiar, and his presence a part of his home. Athos couldn't lose another piece of himself.

He looked up from the spot where the fast moving crowd had been and turned around with a foreign sense of confusion. Usually at this point he would have Porthos' grip on his shoulder or d'Artagnan's hand on his elbow or Aramis' grasp around his wrist. The lack of a grounding touch drew Athos' gaze down to his hands and he bolted; down the corridor, through the bathroom doors and barely managed to keep from vomiting on his own shoes.

Athos bent over the toilet, purging his stomach until his throat was raw. A low whimper escaped him as his knees threatened to give away under him. His stomach still roiled, bile rising again at the thought of what he had had done…

… _"You killed him, are you happy now?" his father snapped, "I told you not to trust that woman but who am I to order a man's heart?"_

 _His words thrown back in his face should hurt more, should cut deeper but Athos feels nothing. His vision remains hazy; it hasn't been clear in a while now. The silence tells him that he has to respond._

" _I – I'm –" his voice is rough and crumbles around the edges, "I'm sorry."_

" _You're sorry?" it's his mother._

 _The slap to his face leaves a mark for days; it's enough to cast a burst of silver spots in the fog of his view. Athos waits for the sting, he can't feel a thing…_

…He stopped with his back pressed against the tiled wall and slid to the floor without a thought. A part of him knew that he should go out and ask after d'Artagnan, to look for Porthos, to call Aramis, but the horror creeping up around his ribs wouldn't let him move.

He would lose another little brother, by his own mistake, again. Athos sucked in a breath through clenched teeth and smacked his head back into the wall; flinching away from the gun shot still echoing in his mind, the trigger still depressed under his finger…

… _a soft breeze rustles the leaves overhead, the shadows flickering over the small crowd gathered under the tree as the sunbeams slice through the gaps in the canopy. He vaguely wonders that Thomas would love to go cycling on a day like this and then his eyes fall on his father's face._

 _Blue meets blue._

 _His mother is crying too hard to notice he is there._

" _I told you to stay away," says his father, "you're not allowed here."_

 _He is standing before Athos, blocking his path to the casket beyond._

" _He has every right to be here," Porthos rumbles from beside him._

" _He is not my son,"_

" _But he is Thomas' brother," Aramis' voice is firm._

 _His father has to step aside as they flank him but he can feel the piercing gaze burning holes in his back._

" _It's your fault Athos, his blood is on your hands."_

 _The words make him stumble almost as if he had taken a bludgeon to his back…._

…Guilt and regret and despair churned in the hollow between his ribs. He saw Thomas, delighted to be allowed in their group for the evening and he saw d'Artagnan, glancing to him in happy awe as the other two dragged him away. Thomas looking up from his book morphed into d'Artagnan surfacing from the glow of his laptop screen. The grinning face of one little brother looking back as he bicycled ahead turned into the bright smile of the other as he turned to him with a latest win at the video game.

Athos had no idea when the tears started rolling down his face. He had drowned himself in a bottle before he could drown in his remorse and loss the first time around. But now he cried, for the loss of both little brothers and he cried for the blood that stained his hands.

* * *

There was a ringing in his ears and he wished that it would drown out the two men arguing to his right. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat and he breathed through his nose, measuring each inhale and exhale, lips pursed close against the bile he could taste at the back of his throat. He was regretting calling Leon even if it had seemed like a good idea when the other officer had swooped into his dazed view. Bur now Porthos just wanted their friendly Detective Inspector to shut up.

Clenching his eyes shut and tucking his chin against his chest he tried his best to ignore the too loud world. He was successful enough that he didn't hear the door open nor did he hear the footfalls that were as familiar to him as his own.

"Porthos?" Aramis sounded worried.

The hand on his knee was firm and real and Porthos knew it shouldn't be there; Aramis shouldn't be there, he should be home, resting, safe, but the big man was overwhelmingly grateful to find him there. Yet when Porthos peeled open his eyes Aramis was getting to his feet and stepping into Inspector Poupart's space before the man could even blink.

"Un-cuff him," there was a fire under the cold voice.

"What –"

"Un-cuff him now," Aramis' glare pinned the officer even as his hand came to rest on his Porthos' shoulder. It was enough for him to return to the wobbly reality and the big man glanced down at the gleaming metal around his wrists.

He looked up as Leon tossed the keys and Aramis snatched them up from the air, the challenge still clear in his eyes that were set on the rather surprised Inspector Poupart.

"What is the meaning of this? Is this why you had me delayed here?" the officer rounded on Leon as Aramis freed his friend.

"Porthos?"

" 'Mis?" his voice was hoarse even to his own ears.

He squinted at his friend and grimaced at the light that was too bright. Porthos swallowed thickly to keep from throwing up.

"Querido hermano what happened?" Aramis asked quietly.

It came back in flashes, the docks, the body, the gunshot.

"Dunno – they'r sayin I shot som'ne."

He caught Aramis frown before he felt the long callous fingers press against his scalp. He hissed when they skimmed over the matted curls at the back of his head and obediently dipped his head to provide better access; they had done this enough times.

"He's concussed," it was clipped, like the sound of a gun being cocked.

"I didn't know – let me get the first aid kit." Leon spoke up, the sound of him opening the cabinet rattled against Porthos' headache like a baton against metal bars. From the corner of his eye he saw the folded gauze Leon handed Aramis and braced himself for the pain he knew was coming.

"That doesn't change the fact that I found the smoking gun in his hand," Inspector Poupart insisted, "he is my suspect, this man is a murderer!"

"Why don't we provide the medical help he needs while the evidence is sorted?" Leon asked.

"The rest of the evidence will fall in line," Inspector Poupart waved off the question, "Porthos Du Vallon shot and killed John Mauvoisin; it's clear as day."

Aramis' eyes narrowed at the declaration. He squeezed Porthos' shoulder before he turned to the other two men with a smile that was the curve of a blade; smooth, sharp and cold.

"How is it that you've identified the victim this quickly Inspector?" he asked.

"I – I – that is –"

"You're working for d'Herblay aren't you?"

"That's preposterous!"

"You're just the kind of twit the Cardinal would want as a lowly henchman,"

"Porthos Du Vallon and Mauvoisin met at the Court of Miracles, there's an old rivalry between them," the officer shook his head.

"Is there now?" Aramis smiled wider, it was a feral thing, "and how do you know Porthos' history?"

Inspector Poupart's eyes widened and he cast a futile glance for help towards Leon, but the Detective Inspector was frowning deeply. He crossed his arms before his chest and hitched a seat on the corner of the desk.

"I'd like to know that to," said Leon.

"You knew about Porthos' attack before it happened didn't you Inspector Poupart?" Aramis asked.

"I was in the area,"

"You were informed by the Cardinal,"

"I don't know any Cardinal,"

"Who is working for d'Herblay," Aramis went on as if he hadn't been interrupted at all, "but you don't want to come between me and my old man, officer."

"Your –"

Aramis nodded; his grin deadly and his eyes hard, it had Porthos looking away. The big man hated the darkness, the violence that seeped through the cracks and settled in his brother's features.

"I'm Rene d'Herblay the Fourth and I can assure you Inspector that I can be a twisted, vindictive bastard who won't play by the rules."

The words were spoken in a deceptively conversational tone but Porthos swung his head back to his friend so fast he was sure he could feel his brain sloshing in his head. He squinted at the figure before him who was dominating the other man's space with an arrogance that was especially harsh in its soft declaration.

Porthos' mouth went dry, he had never seen his friend like this; Aramis had never so openly accepted his parentage and never before had he looked like that.

"Are you – you're threatening me then?"

"No Inspector I'm warning you," Aramis stepped ahead and the man backtracked instinctually, "If you and the rest of the tin soldiers that are on Senior's pay roll won't back off, I will destroy you," he moved forward and until the man was pressed back against the wall, "carefully, delicately, chip by chip."

"You –"

"I've learned from my father Inspector and everyone knows he's the best at what he does," Aramis' voice was still leveled, soft even, "I have my own resources and if you or your friends so much as breathed in Porthos' direction I will bury each one of you, in every sense of the word."

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the sharp hollow breathing of the Inspector against the wall. His wild eyes darted to the side and met Porthos'; in that moment the big man felt a twinge of sympathy for the man, especially when he flinched as Aramis leaned forward to catch his gaze.

"Can I trust you to pass on the message to your fellows?" he asked.

"Yes,"

"Good," Aramis nodded and turned to the Detective Inspector, "that video I sent Leon, I wasn't exaggerating that there are lives at stake."

"What am I looking for?"

"Call Treville he'll explain everything," Aramis said and walked over to Porthos.

His touch was gentle, grounding, but the eyes that wouldn't meet Porthos' had a gleam that the big man had only witnessed in flashes before. Porthos let his friend help him to his feet and leaned into the hands that he had always known to help and to heal him. Close as they were when they walked out of the building and towards the car, there was still something off between them.

"Where are the others?" Aramis asked; his voice low in deference to Porthos' headache as he helped him buckle his seatbelt.

"H'spital," he frowned, "S'mthin happ'nd. 'm not sure."

"Neither am I," Aramis said.

Porthos had a feeling that there was something else going on. He watched his friend getting in on the other side and settling behind the steering wheel, inexplicably the big man felt that the space between them was too wide, too gaping.

But then the car moved and the nausea rose from the pit of stomach. He groaned and pressed back in the seat, not at all surprised when he felt the scratchy touch of a bandaged hand on his shoulder. Opening his eyes slightly he peered at his friend.

He wanted to tell Aramis that he shouldn't be driving, he wanted to ask him where he had left his crutch, but that wasn't what came out past his lips.

" 'think 'm gonna be sick," he said.

"Do that and Athos will skin you alive for stinking up his car," the warm teasing note was clear.

Porthos couldn't stop the tiny smile from curling on his face, for now he had found his Aramis.

* * *

Hands, his hands were wet; wet with the blood of his brothers. Athos curled his fingers into fists but to his surprise they were pried open again. Hands that were not his held his fingers and wiped clean the dried purple stains. He frowned at the realization that the wetness was only water.

Athos let his head thump back against the wall. The hit against his skull jarred lose bits of his world from the despair and he saw a dark head bent before him. Another smack and he became aware of the eyes that had risen up to study his face. He reared his head back again but this time it hit something softer, the bones prominent against his head, fingers tangled in his hair.

The back of his head was cushioned by a hand.

"Aramis?" he whispered.

"You back now?"

He wanted to say he hadn't really left, at least he didn't think so, but Athos nodded his head.

"Yes, yes I'm back." He breathed out.

The hand behind his head slid down to the back of his neck and gave it a squeeze. But then it drew away and Athos couldn't keep the shiver at bay. He watched Aramis collect the pile of stained paper towels by his side and get to his feet to dump them in the trash.

Aramis washed his hands in the sink, eyes fixed on the water. Athos watched his profile and couldn't help but feel there was something missing, the distance between them seemed too far all of a sudden. Aramis closed the tap but didn't turn to him, instead he leaned onto the vanity before him, eyes staring down in the sink.

"Why didn't you call?" he asked, "why didn't you let me know it had gone this bad?"

"I killed him," Athos confessed in a whisper.

Aramis turned to him in surprise.

"Who?"

"d'Artagnan,"

Aramis came to crouch before him and grasped Athos by the shoulders, holding him up and grounding him at the same time. He shook his head even as he frowned.

"He is not dead. D'Artagnan lives Athos,"

"Lives?" he dared not hope.

"He's wounded and they are pushing fluids to get his blood count up but he's alive," Aramis nodded.

It was too good to be true but his brother wouldn't lie to him, not for this. Athos felt himself melt at the news, the fear, the despair, the horror leaving him in one great burst. With a sob he found himself leaning into his friend's arms until his forehead was resting on Aramis' shoulder; and when his brother wrapped his arm around him, the distance he had perceived earlier vanished for the moment.

"I shot him, I shot him Aramis but I didn't mean to," Athos felt it spilling out of him, needing someone to know, needing to voice it, "I shot him, I almost killed him just as I killed Thomas."

"You didn't kill Thomas," Aramis whispered, "and d'Art is alive, what happened with him was an accident. C'mon lets go see him."

* * *

"Flea and Charon are looking into it; we'll know for sure who John Mauvoisin is. That is, if he is from the Court like the Inspector said," the voice rumbled over from his side.

 _Porthos_ , his mind provided.

"Ninon is sending Fleur to stay with some friends out of country; don't know if it'll be enough though," it held the undercurrents of a weariness d'Artagnan was quickly getting used to.

 _Aramis_ , he told himself and felt around for the third presence that had become a fixture in his life. Sure enough, the quiet weight around his ankle bespoke of the grip that was both steady and strong.

 _Athos._

It was enough to lull him back into the comfortable dark recess he had found himself floating in. Yet something pricked his mind, probed him to rise and breakthrough the surface. The cloying tendrils of unconsciousness were reluctant to let him go, but the young man had a feeling he had something to do, something urgent that he couldn't really put his finger on.

His eyelids felt heavy and it took an effort to unlatch them from the grainy thickness that clung to his lashes, even then he only managed to open his eyes in mere slits. The receding sunlight haloed the blurred view and the first thing he registered was Athos.

The man was sitting in a chair by the bed with his hand resting on d'Artagnan's ankle, but his head was dipped slightly and eyes lowered to a spot somewhere on the floor.

From the corner of his eye he spotted Porthos who was sitting back in a chair by the wall. The big man had his head resting in his hand, fingers kneading the temples and clutching at his curls in turn.

D'Artagnan let his gaze wander over the room and flinched at the glow from the window, the late afternoon sun hanging low in the sky was still too bright for his liking. But the view was cut by Aramis who was perched on the windowsill, staring out.

His brain moved sluggishly to register all three of them again, the process slowed by the warm haze still hanging over him. But that was not all, there was something else, something unbalanced. And d'Artagnan felt as if the three men before him were scattered despite their proximity.

His fingers twitched and he managed to roll his head.

"d'Artagnan? That's it, wake up now," Athos was on his feet.

His blue eyes bright as he loomed nearer in d'Artagnan's view and the younger man latched on to that, gasping when a sharp pain suddenly made itself known. It jabbed in his side with a force that spoke of a sharpness blunted only for the time being. D'Artagnan knew it was the pain medications that were keeping the edge at bay and shivered at the thought of the agony waiting in the wings for him.

"The blood loss can make you feel cold," Aramis said as he pulled up the covers over him.

"I'll get the nurse," Porthos offered.

His words smashed through the medicated cloud over his thoughts and d'Artagnan's eyes widened.

Constance, he had to find Constance.

With a strength he didn't know he possessed the young man rolled onto his side. Ignoring the surprised exclamations and attempts to sooth him, he braced a hand against the fire at the side of his chest and pushed against the bed with his other hand. He sat up breathing heavily.

"What're you –"

"– lay down."

"– the nurse –"

"Constance…" he breathed out, "Hafta find –" he groaned despite himself as the fire in his side stoked up.

Reality ebbed and flowed as he tried to catch his breath, a broken whimper slipping past his control as the pain in his side flared with every move. The top of his head connected with something solid and he felt something warm wrap around his shoulders.

"Sshhh …that's right, calm down." Athos rubbed a hand up and down his arm...

… _his father's sweater is scratchy against his wet cheek._

" _Sshhh…Charles, it was just a nightmare. "_

 _He gulps and nods and holds on to the one person he trusts completely…_

D'Artagnan sniffed and pressed a bit closer to the man holding him. He had never dreamed to feel such safety after he had lost his father. He felt Athos' other hand come to rest on his head and it was the best shelter against the storm of his rising emotions. Swallowing thickly, d'Artagnan took a moment to savor the warm sanctuary before he pushed away.

" 'm fine now," he croaked.

Aramis wordlessly passed the glass of water to Athos who held it out to him. The few sips of water through the straw were the best thing he had ever tasted. Setting the paper glass on the table beside the bed d'Artagnan was a little surprised when it wobbled. Athos rescued it from the edge and d'Artagnan raised a hand to stop the nurse before she could reach him.

"I'm leaving," he said.

"You can't even sit up without support," Porthos pointed out.

He took away the hand the younger man hadn't noticed on his shoulder and d'Artagnan pitched forward alarmingly.

"See?" Porthos held him up again.

"I have to find Constance," he closed his eyes and willed the room to stop spinning.

"Athos told us what happened," Porthos nodded, "but we don't know where she's keeping her."

She had said she will tell him where to come with the key, d'Artagnan remembered with a frown and patted his thigh expecting to find a pocket there. It dawned on him a little belatedly that he was in a hospital gown, pulling at the thin material with just a hint of confusion d'Artagnan wriggled his toes and found the result strangely captivating.

While he stared at his feet, his mobile phone appeared in his view as if by magic and he grasped it with a shaky hand.

"Thanks," he gave a rather too bright smile to Aramis and began the shockingly difficult task of entering the password on his mobile phone; completely missing the look the other three shared between them.

His fingers clumsily scrolled over the screen and he nearly dropped the phone a couple of times. But it was a morbid success to find the message from Constance's number that simply stated an address. He held it out to Porthos.

"We'll find her," the big man said.

" 'm coming with," he made to slide off the bed and groaned.

"You're too far gone with the pain meds," Aramis pointed out.

"Then get me off 'em," he zeroed in on the IV stuck at the back of his hand only to have Porthos' hand wrap around his fingers. The big man gave a dry chuckle.

"You should leave that to someone who knows about these things," he said.

D'Artagnan immediately turned to Aramis, pouring forth all the unspoken plea, frustration and anxiety in his gaze. It must have been effective because his friend waved a hand as though warding off a bug and looked to Athos; d'Artagnan followed suite but to his dismay Athos wouldn't meet his eyes.

It came to him then, the plan to trap Richelieu, the meeting at the docks and the surprise of M'Lady. To his disgust he realized that he had let himself be captured by that woman and had single handedly laid waste to the plan they had made. It was likely too late to even set the meeting with the Cardinal at the time he had ordered them to.

"Athos I'm so sorry…" he reached out and curled his fingers in the other man's sleeve, "I messed it up, I'm sorry."

Athos grasped his fingers in his own hand; there was confusion in his eyes followed by pain and guilt. D'Artagnan frowned, he couldn't understand the guilt but he did scan his friend as much as he could for any signs of injury.

"She shot you?" he asked.

"No, I –" Athos shook his head and hooking close the chair he took a seat, his hand still holding on to d'Artagnan, "what do you remember?"

"M'Lady has Constance," he replied promptly.

"And we'll work on that," Athos nodded.

With a frown d'Artagnan looked down at himself, the ache in his side that stoked every time he moved told him that he had been injured in some way. He remembered the fear he had felt for Athos' safety and he remembered the crack of gunshot in the air.

"She shot me?" he looked up at his friend.

"I shot you," Athos' voice was low but clear.

His hold on d'Artagnan's fingers tightened to an almost painful level and the younger man found himself gripping back. His other hand rose almost on instinct and hovered over the bandage, fingers tracing the spot he could feel was sore from the wound.

"It was through and through, cracked a rib and caused fairly heavy blood loss." Athos was almost gentle in tone but d'Artagnan could feel the tight knot of guilt in his voice. It was especially clear in his eyes that seemed torn between making sure that the younger man was listening and the fact that they couldn't meet his gaze.

"You shot me," d'Artagnan repeated the words to make sense of them.

Even in the haze of medication he knew that he would have to choose his next step very wisely. His tired mind scrambled to form a solution for his brother who looked bowed down by an invisible weight on his shoulders.

"Did you mean it?" he asked.

"God no! d'Artagnan I'm sorry, it was an accident. I'd never shoot a brother."

"Then you're forgiven," d'Artagnan said.

He knew how much it meant to actually hear those words, to have a clear confirmation that you had sincerely apologized and been forgiven. D'Artagnan knew how relieving it was and he had learned it from Athos.

"Thank you," the older man's voice came out thick.

"Now you need to come up with a plan to save Constance," d'Artagnan told him.

He grinned when Athos looked to him in surprise, as far as d'Artagnan was concerned, it was the best way he could show his brother that he still trusted him; that he still had faith in the man whom he would always want to watch his back.

* * *

 **Thank you all who read, favorite and follow this story. Thank you to all of you who leave me your thoughts, each and every one of it is cherished and source of motivation that makes me come back to this story at any odd hour I can find to type out the next chapter.**

 **Endless Hazard: I didn't notice the irony before you pointed it out, but when I did it just made me grin at the accidental cleverness :) I hope you're not too disappointed by the lack of comfort but the pace of the story isn't allowing me to put in much of it.**

 **Ruth: I'm really happy to know you're enjoying the story, you're right all the players are lining up for the final. I just wanted you to know that I do care to know about any silly mistakes I'm making and I wanted to Thank you for noticing it and pointing it out to me. All my work is un-beta'ed so no matter how many times I proofread I still miss out the typos; [I like to think of it as writers' blindness :)] but you're right in that the quite/quiet thing is not a typo :D See English isn't my first language and the spellings had always been an issue with me; that combined with my mediocre at best typing speed means that any time I try to type fast the page ends up filled with squiggly red lines. So while Microsoft tries to be helpful I admit I'm careless in choosing the spellings it offers :P**

 **Thank you so much for taking the time to help me get better at this. After I'm done with this story and find the time, I'll go back and correct the mistakes.**


	19. Chapter 19

**WARNING: Canon character deaths and rated M for violence**

* * *

It wasn't that he didn't like a stroll in the open air, in fact he was all for a good sweaty activity in a park but d'Artagnan absolutely didn't like the kind of sweaty he was at the moment; the one that broke across his brow and down his back from a mixture of pain and weakness. He blinked and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, the other pressed firmly against the flaring spot at the side of his chest. If he didn't find them very soon he was afraid that the darkness encroaching the edges of his vision would soon wipe out everything.

Trees, more trees, empty park bench, more trees; one step and another, left, right.

He kept up the rather stumbling pace as the washed out light of the evening added a grey tone to everything around him, at least he hoped that was the case and that he wasn't about to fall on his face like his doctor had warned him. He couldn't expect the man to understand though, the doctor simply couldn't see that he just had to do this, d'Artagnan had to save Constance.

"Not exactly the knight in shining armour, are you?" M'Lady's voice had him looking up.

She emerged from behind a tree, the silencer on the muzzle of her gun pressed against the side of Constance head and a short, wild haired man by her side. D'Artagnan pressed his shoulder against a tree bark to keep his balance as he scanned the face of the woman he loved; Constance had her hands tied before her and she looked paler, but her eyes were alert as they searched him for the root of his clearly deteriorating stance.

D'Artagnan fished out the pendrive from his pocket.

"I've got what you asked for, let Constance go."

"Not before I'm sure it isn't the fake one you were bringing to the Cardinal," M'Lady shifted back, taking Constance with her, "Sarazin here would see to it."

He was sure that it was the real thing and d'Artagnan desperately needed this to be over before he took a nose dive into oblivion, so he handed over the pendrive without comment or resistance. Sarazin gave him a triumphant smirk and opening his laptop set to work.

"And where is the rest of the merry crew?" M'Lady asked.

D'Artagnan noted how she was using Constance to shield herself from any potential attack and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

"They don't know I'm here," he replied, "didn't want me handing over the real decryption code."

M'Lady smiled like a cat that had come in possession of an entire flock of canaries and d'Artagnan heard a rustle. He stared in worn surprise as Athos, Porthos and Aramis were led to them at gun points.

"You think I would believe that?" M'Lady sounded insulted, "that they'll let their precious injured puppy out on his own?"

He had hoped that she would believe that, they had all hoped that. The younger man looked to his three friends who were outnumbered two to one, it was clear that at least Porthos had put up some resistance, the new bruise under his beard was a proof of that. Athos was staring fixedly at his wife and he was the one d'Artagnan was worried for the most, the hate, anger and just a hint of affection churning in the man's gaze made him unpredictable.

D'Artagnan had to blink at that realization, Athos was never unpredictable.

"Constance do you remember the baby in the basement?" it was Aramis who spoke up.

The captive woman glanced in his direction and d'Artagnan saw Aramis give her a nod. That was the only signal everyone had before Constance threw out a hand dislodging M'Lady's weapon and stomped her heel down on the other woman's toe then smashing her head back in her nose for good measure. As the three men disarmed their captors, a muffled shot rang out even as d'Artagnan grabbed Constance who was rushing towards him and swung her around to put himself between her and M'Lady.

The scuffle was over in minutes.

As Porthos took the pendrive from Sarazin, d'Artagnan drew away from the woman in his arms, his eyes and hands searching for any injury.

"I'm fine d'Artagnan," she assured him.

"She shot you," he couldn't look away from the gash on her arm.

The furrow was staining her sleeve into a sticky red mess and d'Artagnan wasn't sure if it was only his own recent injury that was making him nauseous and shaky. The sight of Constance wounded was adding to the dizzy spell until he felt her steadying hands on his face.

She held his face cradled between her hands and forced him to meet her gaze.

"It's just a graze and a glancing one at that," she told him, "I'm fine d'Artagnan, better than you at least."

He swallowed down the knot in his throat and pulled her into his arms. She was alive and breathing and safe and d'Artagnan couldn't ask for more. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of finding her in any other condition but this.

Constance pulled away from him and offered him a gentle glare.

"You shouldn't be on your feet," she said.

"I don't think I will be for longer," he managed a grin.

Constance rolled her eyes and ducking under his arm she draped it across her shoulders before wrapping her arm around his waist. Together they turned to the others who were dealing with M'Lady and her men. D'Artagnan felt his heart plummet at the sight of Athos standing over his wife with her own weapon trained on the woman.

M'Lady wiped her profusely bleeding nose and glared up at the man from where she had dropped on her knees. A contemptuous smile graced her features and she leaned away from the muzzle of the gun pressed against her forehead.

"Not today Athos, I have some things to take care of first."

"You murdered Thomas," Athos' voice wavered dangerously.

"I did,"

The man before her flinched at her clear affirmation and d'Artagnan couldn't look away from the white knuckled grip he had on the weapon; he feared Athos might accidently pull the trigger.

"You're not even sorry for that?" it came out wrangled against his breathing.

"It would change nothing," M'Lady shrugged a shoulder, "let's not insult us both by asking for platitudes none of us believe in."

D'Artagnan held his breath as the woman got to his feet. He saw Porthos move forward as though to stop her but was pulled to a halt by Athos himself. Their eyes met and Athos shook his head before he turned away from the woman whom he had loved, still loved.

"Go on, leave," Athos didn't face that woman again, "and never cross my path again."

"Our paths are twined Athos, more deeply than you know;" M'Lady said.

She left without a backwards glance, the flutter of her fingers signaling her men to move out after her. D'Artagnan saw Athos sway where he stood but he was quickly flanked by Porthos and Aramis. A hand on his shoulder and a grip on his elbow steadied the man enough to look to their youngest with a tiny smile.

"So that's what you meant when you said watch Constance?" Athos turned to Aramis.

"Never make the mistake of underestimating her," d'Artagnan grinned as he held on to the woman just a little tighter.

Constance huffed a laugh and helped him towards his brothers.

"I think a hospital bed is in order before you swoon at my feet," she said.

Before he could voice his indignation to that rather accurate assessment he felt Athos slipping in place where Constance had been. It was a slow trek pack to their cars and by the time d'Artagnan slid into the seat the lights in the parking lot were all shining brightly; he squinted against their brightness in his blurry view as he felt someone buckle the seatbelt for him.

"d'Art?" Athos tapped his face, "are you with us?"

"unhhh…" he had meant it as a yes but the pain was eating away at this comprehension.

He licked his suddenly dry lips and forced himself to focus on Athos who was leaning to get into his line of sight. The older man offered him a hint of a smile and pressed something in his hand. D'Artagnan frowned at the pendrive in his grasp.

"You hold onto that," Athos told him, "Aramis will take you and Constance to the hospital."

"Wha – 'ere 'r you goin'?"

"Porthos and I are looking in a lead concerning Mauvoisin,"

D'Artagnan found himself shaking his head; there was a bad feeling in his gut that had nothing to do with the nausea that the agony in his side was stirring up. He suddenly didn't want Athos to go follow this lead and found himself clutching the older man's sleeve.

"Don't –"

"We'll be back before you wake up in the hospital room," Athos assured him.

* * *

Flea had told him that Charon had found a man who had witnessed Mauvoisin being snatched off from the Court of Miracles the night before. He was new to the Court and hasn't yet found his circle, nor had he proven his worth in any fight yet. The man Charon had contacted had seen the abduction but was too nervous to come forward to the police.

If Porthos wasn't so worried about what Aramis might do to clear his name he would have asked for this meeting to be set up tomorrow, his head was killing him as it was and the scuffle with M'Lady's friends hadn't helped the matter. He rubbed the back of his neck and squeezed at the knots where it met with his shoulder, once this was over Porthos decided he would sleep for week.

"Are you sure we should do this tonight?" Athos asked him.

It took a few minutes for Porthos to realize that the car had stopped; he looked out the window to trace the moving shadows beyond the lights that lit up the vicinity of the docks and shook his head lightly. Wincing at the movement, he stopped immediately and regarded Athos from the corner of his eye.

"You didn't see him Athos; he may go too far to save me from this,"

"I think I can imagine," Athos nodded.

"You didn't see," Porthos repeated and with a fortifying inhale, he exited the car.

The two of them made their way through the thin crowd milling in front of the warehouse and over to the woman standing by the side door. Flea nodded by the way of greeting and stepped up into the pool of light in front of the barred door.

"Charon is with Mark in the office at the back," she said, "he said the man is a flight risk, it wouldn't do to crowd him."

"So he chose the one place packed with about fifty people high on blood lust?" Athos quirked a brow.

"Mark is one of the Court, he doesn't fear the people here," Flea's voice had a cool edge.

"Why don't we get this over with," Porthos hadn't the strength to referee this argument, "Athos can stay out in the main area while you and I talk to Mark."

The woman eyed him critically, her gaze taking in his thinly veiled exhaustion before she turned to unlock and lift the deadbolt out of the holder. The inside of the warehouse was dimly lit, the smell off sweat and damp clothes swelled out to greet them, riding on the stale air thickened with loud betting and undercurrents of grunts as fists impacted their targets.

It sent an odd twinge down his spine, the familiarity of it. Porthos found himself halting in his tracks as he looked around. It was like stepping back in time, years after he had left this life behind it was odd to find that nothing had changed in the world of the Court.

As his gaze drifted from the dark rounded silhouettes piled high along the walls to the sole bulb hanging alight over the action, Porthos forced himself to move ahead. Weaving their way through the tight throng of people focused on the fight, they made their way to the back office. As the blacked out windows came into view Athos grasped Porthos' arm.

"I'll keep an eye on the doors," he said before he glanced towards the office door and added, "be careful."

"You as well," Porthos flashed him a smile.

He waited with Flea as Athos slipped back into the crowd and the young woman knocked on the door. Porthos had a feeling it would be drowned out by the din but the door opened to reveal Charon. With a jerk of his head the man signaled them in and Porthos glanced back to the main room.

His gaze unerringly found Athos' and with a nod in his friend's direction he followed Flea into the office. The first thing he spotted was the lamp glowing on the desk, enhancing the dark corners of the small room, next was the small gasp from Flea that made him swing around and away before his world exploded in pain.

Porthos staggered as he spat blood, he had a feeling that he had escaped a much worse blow. His lips stung and his jaw blazed with pain as he straightened, squinting as Charon pulled Flea close with an arm around her throat and a large dagger pressed against her side.

"You're the Cardinal's agent," Porthos growled as he found his balance.

"He got your friend's message and had to turn to me," Charon nodded towards the handcuffs lying on the desk, "put that on,"

Porthos stared back in defiance but Charon only grinned and tightened his grip around Flea, the woman gasped and clawed at his arm, her blue eyes taking on a wild look. With his jaw clenched painfully, Porthos forced himself to move and pick up the handcuffs, clicking one ring in place over his wrist.

"The other one around that pipe," Charon said.

He hadn't even noticed the pipes running along the wall; Porthos felt his stomach tighten at the thought of where this could lead him. He glanced back at Charon in time to see Flea bite into the arm that held her captive before she kicked back against the man. Taking the chance Porthos caught the man in a tackle and they both went down hard. It jarred his already unstable vision and Charon squirmed out from under Porthos, breathing heavily.

Forcing himself up on his knees Porthos stared quizzically at the stickiness under her hand, his gaze focused on the red stain and followed it to the woman lying curled on her side. He scrambled to get near her, paying no mind to the man who now had a gun trained on them.

"Flea?" Porthos turned the woman on her back and only just managed to swallow back the bile. Flea groaned as her hands remained clasped around the leg where the dagger was buried hilt deep.

"C'mon now Flea, you gotta get your breathing under control," he brushed back the dark blonde hair that were stuck to the woman's forehead. Her jaw twitched against the pain and her eyes remained clenched shut.

"Flea? Felicity look at me;" he put more force behind his words and smiled when the watery eyes fluttered open, "there you are,"

"Porthos? I didn't know…"

"I believe you, it's alright," Porthos took of his jacket and wrapped it around the dagger to keep it immobile, "there you go, you'll be fine,"

Flea groaned and he rubbed her arm as the young woman clenched her eyes shut and tried to curl around the pain. The tremors under his hand made Porthos' own heart beat faster; he knew that she needed a hospital before she went into shock.

"She needs help," he told Charon.

Surely, the man who had worked with her every day for years couldn't be so indifferent to her pain.

"Get up," Charon snapped at him, "or I'll put her out her misery."

Porthos complied, smiling for the woman's glazed blue eyes that tracked him.

"Lock it to that pipe," Charon kept his weapon pointed at the prone figure on the floor, "hurry up, we don't have much time."

There was a ring of finality in the click of the other handcuff closing. Porthos was torn between hoping that Athos would come looking and his fear that he too would be caught unprepared if he did. He looked to Caron who had plucked a remote control from his pocket.

* * *

He was sitting by d'Artagnan's bed; the doctors had pumped him with enough pain medication to keep the younger man out for the entire night and then some. Despite his young friend's insistence on not needing it Aramis knew that a good rest was in order, d'Artagnan had pushed himself too far this time.

"Went down kicking and screaming?" Constance smiled as she entered the hospital room.

"Exactly like he was expected to," he managed to dreg up a grin for her.

"You look exhausted, why don't you head home for a while?" Constance took the chair opposite him and twined her fingers with d'Artagnan's.

It brought a smile on Aramis' face and for a second he nearly forgot about the lancing pain that was shooting up from his feet; he had missed his medicine but was still waiting on a word from Athos and Porthos. He glanced at his mobile phone in his hand and frowned at the spiky knot in his gut, there was something wrong, if only he could know what.

"After a day like this one, I think we could all use a good long nap," he cast a look at the bandage on the woman's arm, "how bad was it?"

"Not as bad as it looked," Constance smiled as her hand rubbed up and down d'Artagnan's arm.

Aramis nearly started when his phone vibrated and frowned at the number that he now recognized as Anna Ostair's. He raised it in an apology and an explanation as he exited the room and answered the call.

"And here I thought it would go to voice mail," said the man on the other end.

"Rochefort,"

"One and only," the other man snickered, "I've got someone here dying to meet you,"

Aramis gripped his phone so tightly he was sure that he felt the piece of technology crack. The fear and anger simmering under his skin didn't make it to his voice.

"And where am I supposed to meet you?"

"At the Three Flats, I'm sure you know the address."

* * *

"You should have let the Cardinal trap you with murder charges Porthos," Charon said and pressed the button under his thumb, "that way you would have at least been the only one murdered."

Porthos felt his heart drop when the red dots started blinking in the dark corners of the room; he knew a bomb when he saw one. He pulled against the handcuffs until the pipes creaked.

"You can't kill everyone here Charon," he strained against the hold on his wrist, "these people have nothing to do with this."

"It's an improvised plan," the other man shrugged, "it can't be perfect."

"Shoot me if you have to," Porthos glanced at the red dot to his right, "don't go through with this madness Charon."

"It's your fault Porthos, you shouldn't have irritated the Cardinal," Charon made for the door and checked his watch, "you have five minutes to agonize over your guilt before this place goes up in flames."

The man opened the door and disappeared into the noise outside; Porthos barely registered that it was not the same as the din from before when the door opened again to reveal Athos.

"There're bombs here, you gotta –"

"I know," Athos kneeled before Flea who had passed out, "he has the walls outside lined with them."

"The people –"

"Are evacuating," Athos pulled up Flea and wrapped her arm around his neck before nodding to Porthos' trapped hand, "I don't suppose you have the key."

"I'll manage, just get her out of here,"

Porthos was eternally grateful when his friend didn't argue but simply half carried, half dragged Flea out of there. He turned his attention to the pipes and bracing a foot against the wall, Porthos pulled. The metal dug into his flesh and scraped the skin off his hand, the pipes creaked and just as the first concussion shook through the warehouse Porthos felt the bones in his hand shift.

With a scream of rage and pain he disentangled himself from handcuffs and cradled his hand as he fell on his back. Blinking against the beads of sweat rolling into his eyes he stared in mild shock as Athos stumbled through the door.

"I see you took care of that," he said.

"You shouldn't have come back," Porthos groaned as his friend pulled him to his feet.

"Let's debate on that after we get out of here," Athos told him.

They stepped into the main area of the warehouse just as two more explosives went off. Smoke burned in his vision as the air cooked from the flames licking the walls all around them. Porthos suddenly understood what the inside of an oven felt like.

A deafening clatter rang out, sending sparks and flames in their path. Trying to keep the coughing at bay Porthos blearily glared at the debris blocking their path to the main door. Giving in to the scratch against his throat he doubled over in a coughing fit as he felt hands on his elbow steer him away from the fresh onslaught of smoke.

"The side door," Athos rasped.

They staggered towards the way they had entered the warehouse. As one they pushed against it only to find that the door won't budge. Porthos remembered the deadbolt on the other side and made cutting motion with his hand in Athos direction, hoping he would interpret it. His friend wiped at his eyes with his sleeve and nodded.

Without wasting time on words they stepped away from the door and rammed their shoulders against it. It rattled and shuddered but remained stubbornly close. The two of them tried again and again and again until Porthos saw bright spots in his watery vision and sucked in a thick breath. The heat and the smoke had him coughing until he was on his knees.

Distantly he heard Athos coughing as well and by the time he was able to catch his breath, Porthos found himself on the floor propped up against the door. The searing heat prickled over his skin as his clothes, drenched in sweat, clung to him. Wiping a sleeve over his face he opened his eyes and found his friend before him.

Athos had slumped by the door as well, mirroring Porthos as he leaned the side of his head against the heated wood of the door. His eyes were closed, but tears mingled with the sweat falling in rivulets from his face. His harsh breathing cut through the sound of blood rushing in Porthos' ears…

… _it's just his luck that he finds himself sharing the desk with the most silent, snooty kid in their class. The boy didn't even smile when the teacher had introduced them. Now he's perched stiffly next to him and try as he might Porthos cannot sit still._

 _Being a five year old of sunny disposition that he is, he ignores the rumour going around the class that the boy next to him lives in a tomb and turns to him with a grin that splits his face in half._

" _I'm Porthos!" he announces._

 _The big blue eyes regard him in a blank sort of solemnity._

" _You're Olivier, right?" Porthos prompts._

 _A nod is all he gets before the dark head bends in concentration over the picture they're supposed to draw. Porthos shrugs and dives into his own work, ecstatic to use any and all colours he can lay his hands on._

 _It's after school that he spots him again. The boy is sitting on the bench in the playground while the rest of Porthos' class is chattering happily with their parents who had come to pick them up. Porthos' own Mum is talking to his teacher inside the school and he can't wait to tell her about his day._

 _It's when they are leaving that Porthos finds himself looking at Olivier again. He is sitting there, waiting to be taken home and Porthos realizes that most of the children had already left._

" _Can we wait until Olivier gets to go home?" he turns to his Mum, "I don't want him to be alone."_

 _That's how he and his Mum find themselves sitting with Olivier and making paper planes until his sleek black car rolls to a stop by the pavement._

" _See you tomorrow Olivier!" Porthos thumps the boy on the back._

 _The other one turns to him then and there is happy spark in those blue eyes._

" _It's Athos," he says…_

… Porthos reached out with his good hand and clasped Athos'. His friend opened his bleary eyes and regarded him with a small upwards tilt at the corner of his lips. There was over two decades of friendship and understanding between them, all that they wanted to say was shared in that single silent clasp.

As the rest of the explosives went off and set the world on fire, as the heat and darkness overtook him, Porthos didn't know who succumbed first but he was infinitely grateful that neither of them was alone in the end.

* * *

It wasn't just the three empty buildings that were going to ruins; those in the area that were inhabited were also in the same condition of disrepair. The long line of gleaming cars parked along the pavement guided him to the building Aramis was supposed to go to.

Parking the car, Aramis refrained from scratching at his back where the freshly healing wounds were irritated by the bulletproof vest he had donned under his shirt. Closing the car door behind him, he tucked his gun in the small of his back and pulled his shirt down on it.

The building before him looked battered even under the stained glow of the streetlight, the glow that spotted the walls with dark freckles where the stone was chipped. The windows of all the seven floors of the building had the blinds pulled shut, but all of them were missing panels, giving the entire structure a gape-toothed look.

Aramis found the creaking staircase just inside the main door and made his way up to the top floor where the lights were lit. The first person he saw in the dimly lit room was Rochefort.

He stood by the far wall next to a chair in which Anna Ostair was slumped unconscious and bound down. Dark forms standing around the room told Aramis that Rochefort had brought reinforcements as well.

"You got here faster than I expected," Rochefort grinned and made a show of checking his watch.

"Maybe I'm just eager to put a bullet through your head," Aramis shrugged.

It took him an effort to tear his gaze away from the young woman in the chair to glance at the man beside her. He wasn't much surprised to find the Cardinal standing on the other side of the chair but he did stop in his tracks at the sight of the third man.

He was tall and lean, fair hair coiffed and gleaming with a polished smile that made him appear as if he had been ripped out from a magazine cover.

"Hello son," the only thing colder then the fake cheer in his voice was the sharp blue gaze leveled on him, "I've been waiting."

His heart thudded against his ribs like a battering ram. It kicked his breathing up a notch and he had to consciously calm his racing pulse. Aramis forced himself to not drop his gaze.

"What? Not throwing a parade in my honour then?"

"Still an insolent brat I see," the smile on Senior's face twisted into a sneer.

"Kinda hard to improve on perfection you know," Aramis shrugged, "besides, you look like you're still trampling puppies and sucking out people's souls."

Senior stepped away from the wall and nearer to his son, it too every ounce of self control for Aramis to not flinch back from the man. He was a trained sniper he admonished himself, not a cowering child too scared to take another hit.

"I have a deal to offer you," Senior said as he reached back.

Aramis couldn't keep the shock from his face when the man before him pulled forward a young woman. Bound and gagged with a tear streaked face that soaked afresh at the sight of him. Senior pulled down the rag from around her face.

"Aramis," she gasped.

"Isabelle," his eyes roved over the terrified face of his ex-wife, "How did he –"

"Here's the deal, you hand over the decryption code and she gets to live."

"Leave her out of this, we're not even married. Haven't met in years, I –"

His words were cut short by a quiet snick and Isabelle went slack in Senior's hold. Aramis wasn't sure if he screamed or not, but his throat felt torn as he clutched the limp figure before she could hit the floor. His tears soaked in her hair but he didn't feel them trace down his face.

"Really son, you said you weren't even married," Senior's voice cut through as his men pried the woman from Aramis' arms.

A sound between snarl and howl tore from him and Aramis lunged after his father. The many hands holding him back strained against his wild struggle until a hit to his sternum had Aramis doubling over. His captors let him go and he had just hit the floor on his hands and knees before a kick to his ribs drove out the breath from him.

"I knew you wouldn't be so easily convinced," Senior spoke as if nothing had happened, "come here, I have something to show you."

Aramis hadn't a choice in the matter; Senior's men grabbed him by the back of his shirt and dragged him forwards until he was kneeling in front of a chair. The older man tapped a few keys on the laptop set on the chair and turned its screen towards his son.

"My men got the message you gave Inspector Poupart," Senior said, "it's your fault that we had to go to such extreme measures."

Aramis bit back a groan as he straightened to sit back on his heels; he didn't look up to his father as he grabbed the edge of the seat and squinted at the dark screen. There were six screens with different perspectives and they all displayed a darkened room that held a noisy crowd.

He watched in confusion until one face in the swarm of people stood out to him, a face more familiar to him than his own.

"Athos…"

The man in question was staring away to his left and even in the dimly lit scene, even in the tiny box of a screen, Aramis could tell the shift in the man's features although they were nothing more than a blur. Aramis watched with a baited breath as the crowd dispersed in a stampede, traced Athos as he dragged out a limp fair haired figure and his breath hitched when Athos lost his footing as the world shook around him, cutting out two streams of video.

Aramis clutched the laptop in a white knuckled grip, his nose a hairsbreadth away from the screen as he saw Athos and Porthos stumble in the now brightly lit video. There was fire all around them and as one by one the screens went out Aramis could only stare at his friends slumped against a door, trapped in the burning building.

They weren't moving, like wilting blooms in the harsh sun his brothers simply drooped against the fate they could not escape.

And then the screen went blank with a tremble.

Aramis gasped and clutched the laptop, hoping that it would show him his brothers, give him proof that they had escaped, that they were still alive.

"You see what your stubbornness has earned you?" Senior grabbed him by the back of his collar and hauled Aramis to his feet, tossing the shocked young man to his lackeys when it was clear that his son couldn't stand on his own.

Aramis' eyes remained fixed on the laptop screen, he was praying, he was hoping that it was all a lie.

"Those two are dead Rene and others will follow," the man grabbed his son by the chin and forced those dark wet eyes to meet his, "Treville, Ninon, Flea, Lemay, Constance and that boy d'Artagnan. I will end anyone you have ever come into contact with until you give me that decryption code."

Aramis looked from his father to the dead woman beyond before his gaze drifted to the laptop.

"I'll give you a four hours to think about it," Senior patted his cheek and turned to the trio by the wall, "and Richelieu, I'm afraid your incompetence can not be tolerated further. Rochefort had proven himself more effective, so it is only fair that he gets a chance to prove himself further."

Richelieu arched a brow at the declaration.

"But Mr. d'Herblay I must insist –"

He never got the chance to finish his sentence and staggered back into the wall as two muffled shots rang out. The lanky man slumped to the floor, his eyes vacant and a long red stain left in his wake on the wall.

Senior turned to Rochefort.

"She is payment enough then?" he asked the man.

Rochefort grinned down at the young woman tied to the chair and nodded.

"Very well, I will contact you soon," Senior stowed away his weapon in his belt and bent down to regard the young man who had slumped to the floor without the forceful grips keeping him up, "remember son, four hours."

Aramis didn't catch that, he was still staring at the screen that had gone blank. He didn't hear his father leave, all his mind could replay were the last moments of his brothers. He couldn't believe it, he wouldn't believe it; his brothers couldn't be dead.

Trembling slightly, Aramis shook his head and pushed to his feet, just in time to see Rochefort heave Ms. Ostair onto his shoulder and take a step towards him.

Their eyes met.

Aramis reached for his weapon.

Three silenced shots snipped the air.

The close impact sent him reeling back.

The wood splintered, the glass smashed and Aramis fell out the window.

* * *

He came around with a soft gasp. Something had woken him up; something had cut through the drug induced sleep and jerked his mind to consciousness. He felt a hand tighten around his wrist.

"D'Artagnan? Are you waking up? Are you in pain?"

He cracked open his eyes to find Constance's face and tried to smile. But there was a strange fear coiled in his belly and all he managed was a grimace.

"Don't fight it d'Art, let the medicine help you." Constance murmured.

As the medication dragged him under again, one question solidified in d'Artagnan's mind; where are my brothers?

* * *

 **Thank you to all those who read, follow and favorite this story. Thank you to the lovely people who leave me reviews, especially the guests, Ruth, Clara and Jen, your words are cherished and doted upon.**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Apologies for the delay.**

* * *

 _Dead_

 _Departed_

 _Gone_

 _Athos_

 _Porthos_

Aramis inhaled sharply and groaned.

His chest was on fire; his breaths were like jabs from a hot poker stabbing his lungs. Trying to take shallow breaths, he bit his lip against the sharp pain shooting up from his knee and spreading out from his shoulder. Aramis slowly opened his eyes and regarded the darkness.

He moved his fingers, then his toes, relieved to find them taking orders from his brain. He was lying on his side, the surface under him cold, hard and slotted. Shifting slightly he paused at the creaking vibrations under him. Carefully Aramis lifted his head, squinting against the pounding in his head, and considered the metal structure that had broken his fall. It was the fire-escape stair case, what was left of it any way.

Bracing a hand under him Aramis forced himself to sit up and looked up to the window he had fallen from; he was now three floors down.

Maneuvering his right arm with his already bandaged left hand he tucked the limb close to his chest, hoping to ease the pressure off his dislocated shoulder. He dared not examine his chest; the pain told him clearly about the broken ribs that may have been cracked by the bullets hitting the vest before the fall did them in. Clutching his right leg from above the throbbing knee Aramis pushed himself to hobble onto his feet.

He had to yet cross the four storey's worth of rusting stairs and it was only the thought of his brothers that pushed him on. He refused to believe that Porthos and Athos were gone; he would not believe them dead.

It couldn't be so, not his brothers.

"Not Porthos, not Athos," he murmured under his breath, "not Porthos, not Athos,"

It kept repeating in a loop in Aramis' mind as he limped to his car and it echoed in his head as he drove to the docks where his brothers had gone.

"Not Porthos, not Athos,"

It became a mantra, it became a prayer; it became the last fluttering attempt of a hope not ready to be extinguished.

The glow from the flames had painted the dark sky above in a pale orange-pink dome and Aramis' heart sank even before the car had rolled to a stop. The fire brigade was already battling the inferno; still the flames fought back against the stream of water and added to the humid heat. Like a moth Aramis found himself drawn to the burning warehouse.

His eyes roamed over the small crowd that had gathered, the lights flashing off of the reflective yellow on black uniforms, orders flying quick and sharp around him. Amidst it all Aramis searched for Porthos' grin, the sound of his laugh and for Athos' eye-roll, his soothing tone.

"Hey! Stop!" someone grabbed his good arm, "you can't go near there."

Aramis looked in confusion at the large paramedic who had stopped him.

"My brothers are in there," his voice came out hoarse.

"Why don't you come with me?" the paramedic made to steer him away, "my name is Ben, I'm going to fix you up. What's your name?"

Aramis pulled his arm away, staggering a bit. He couldn't understand why the man was offering help to him when all he needed was a confirmation that his brothers hadn't been in the building that was slowly reducing to a smoldering carcass.

"Look, you're hurt let me help you,"

"I don't need your help; I need to find my brothers,"

The man raised his hands in a placating gesture and glanced over his shoulder towards the extinguishing fire. Heat still rolled out from the blackened walls that came into view from under the flames.

"They'll give it at least half an hour to cool down before they venture in," Ben reasoned, "why don't you wait in the back of my ambulance?"

Had he been in the right frame of mind Aramis would have picked on the fact that the fire fighters waiting for the building to cool down meant that they were sure there were no survivors. He would have argued, he would have yelled at them and he would have fought tooth and nail to get into the warehouse himself.

"You're limping and your shoulder's clearly dislocated," Ben urged gently and guided the injured man towards his ambulance. He didn't protest when Aramis refused to go inside but simply perched onto the fender between the open doors.

"Okay," Aramis nodded, "Okay, you put it back in."

"Whoa! Not happening buddy, not before you get it x-rayed," Ben prepared an injection.

Aramis eyes snapped in his direction and he stood up again. He actually looked at the man this time and found the broad shoulders and tight curls so much like Porthos' that he had to close his eyes against them.

"Look, the only help I need at the moment is to fix my arm so I can use it," he shook his head but stopped when his stomach flipped, "you can help me with that and I can give you my word that if it leads to further damage I won't sue you. Or I can find someone else to reduce this joint for me."

Ben regarded him for a moment before pursing his lips and giving him a nod.

"Alright, alright, hop in and lie back then,"

Just the idea of lying down and then getting up had Aramis feeling the bile rise to his throat; he couldn't go through the painful procedure again, not with his broken ribs.

"I'm going to sit here," he closed one of the ambulance doors and pressed back against it to brace himself, "and no medication."

Ben grumbled under his breath as he carefully pulled the injured limb away from Aramis' chest. Slowly he pulled it out at the required angle and glanced at Aramis' rather pale face.

"You're the youngest aren't you?" he asked.

Aramis blinked at him, he was an only child but in the brothers he had chosen he could say he had been the youngest for years.

"I was," he replied, "but then the baby of the family turned up."

"I'm guessing it was a late addition,"

Aramis thought of d'Artagnan and an involuntary turn upwards appeared at the corner of his lips.

"Late but most welcomed,"

"But by then you've established yourself as the brat who always gets his way," Ben nodded as he braced him back and pulled the arm.

Aramis' surprised grin turned into a chocked gasp as the pain peaked, the bones grinding against each other before shifting into place. He pressed back as the pain slowly ebbed and realized that Ben had effectively distracted him from tensing up.

"Thank you," he looked the paramedic in the eye.

The man waved it away with a grin and heaved a put upon sigh.

"Now am I allowed to clean that gash on your forehead?" Ben asked.

Aramis traced the wound in surprise as his eyes drew back to the blackened warehouse that was giving off steam as the fire brigade rolled up the hoses. Taking his silence as acquiesce, Ben got to work and Aramis was silently thankful when the paramedic made sure to keep from blocking his view of the activity.

It was almost an hour later that the firefighters suited up to enter the area. Aramis found himself walking forwards, away from the ambulances, through the crowd and onto the other side of the tape marking the area restricted. He stared wide eyed as the coroner was called in and minutes, years, life times later two body bags were wheeled out.

"No, no, no, no, no,"

"You're not allowed back here,"

"No, no, oh please no," Aramis shook his head as he tried to reach the stretchers carrying the bags.

"Sir I must ask you to –"

"Where did you find them?" Aramis turned to the firefighter, "where did you find them?"

"Look, we can't disclose –"

"My brothers were in there!" Aramis had to make him understand, "where did you find them?"

The firefighter's face softened.

"By the side door of the warehouse,"

It knocked the breath out of him and Aramis swayed where he stood.

His heart raced, faster than time it seemed. The world slowed and the movements around him thickened; sluggish and cloying. His vision flickered and swam until it settled on the firefighter who was carrying a clear plastic bag. Inside it were two identical items, blackened and melted but not so far disfigured that Aramis couldn't recognize them.

Inside the plastic bag were two metal fleurs-de-lis that were part of the badges they carried as Treville's men.

Something stretched in him, reached out, imploring, searching, but falling short in the distance that was too much. Frantic, terrified, it still drew out for the loose ends that had been cut away. It pulled taut, strained against the emptiness and snapped.

He blinked slowly and time suddenly rushed to fill the gap like a tide coming in.

Aramis sucked in a breath that stuck in his throat and erupted in a cough.

It was over, it was all over and for the life of him Aramis couldn't understand why the world hadn't stopped. Why the sky wasn't falling and the ground splitting open. He couldn't understand how these people were going about their lives when his had imploded. Didn't they get that it was over? Didn't they see the end unraveling right before them?

Aramis coughed and coughed and staggered away from the scene.

Senior had won, Athos and Porthos were dead and in that moment, with his wet breathing scratching his throat, he realized so was Aramis. The healer was gone; the brother no more, only Rene was left.

The d'Herblay heir was the only one left standing now that Aramis had been ripped away in tatters.

He coughed and spit out the coppery tasting liquid that left a warm stain on his lips. Aramis wiped his hand across his mouth and regarded the red streaks in a dethatched sort of interest. He was bleeding in more ways than one.

But Rene didn't mind.

Rene had a plan; a plan to bring down his father and any obstruction in his way would be dealt with, any threat neutralized. The eyes that rose to regard the mobile phone in his hand bore the chilling emptiness of a man no longer living, the spark had gone out.

There was nothing left for Aramis now, but Rene had a purpose and Rene didn't care about anything but his purpose, there was no hesitation in him, there was no weakness.

He raised his mobile phone and dialed the number he hadn't in years.

"Hello father…"

* * *

The first thing that came back was the sense of smell, she could tell by the hint of lavender on the sharp edge of leather that she was in one of Louis' cars. She wondered if she had fallen asleep after picking her fiancé from one of his meetings when the harsh cursing broke through the haze surrounding her.

Anna stiffened at Rochefort's voice as flashes of the man cornering her in the gardens poured in her mind. He had shoved her against the tall hedge and then a sharp stench of chloroform had wiped out the world. The young woman felt her stomach drop at the thought of what the man might have done to her.

"…it's a through and through in the muscle I think,"

"There's a bloody tunnel in my side you idiot!" Rochefort snapped, "I don't care what you think just get me to the damned clinic!"

Taking care to keep herself as limp as possible Anna did a mental inventory of her injuries, the bruise on her arm where he had grabbed her hurt but other than that there was no pain. The relief was almost strong enough to drown out the panic to find her wrists and ankles tied up.

She peered through her lashes as the car came to a stop. The driver exited first before he helped out Rochefort.

"What about her?" asked the man.

"She's out, leave her," Rochefort said.

The car door slamming shut was the best sound to her ears. Anna risked opening her eyes and found the car darkened. A look outside told her that they were in an alley, the signboard over the back door of the clinic was the only source of light. She closed her eyes again when Rochefort's driver came out and waited with a bated breath for him to enter the car.

When he didn't, she peered through half open eyes to find the man leaning against the car with his back towards her. This was her chance.

Making sure not to move around too much she reached for the folding dagger Aramis had given her that night on the terrace of Bourbon Cottage. While not one for violence she had seen the need for it ever since Louis had started leaving her alone weeks on end with Rochefort a welcomed guest to the Cottage any time he wished. So Anna had taken to wear the thin hilt strapped to the inside of her thigh where it was easy enough to hide especially with the dresses Louis' insisted she wore being the lady of the house.

It was difficult to not jostle the car as she retrieved the weapon, and unfolding the blade she made a quick work of the bindings holding her immobile.

Clutching the dagger in a white knuckled grip she focused on her escape, if Rochefort or his men shot at her then this weapon wouldn't be helpful at all but Anna decided she couldn't risk leaving it behind. She cast one last look at the back turned towards her before she opened the door and slipped out, darting towards the mouth of the alley.

Heavy foot falls and shouts reached her almost instantly, but Anna ran.

The streets lay empty, in the dead of the night there was no one to help her as the man grabbed her wrist and swung her around. With a primal shriek Anna lashed at him with the dagger and caught him off guard.

The man howled and cursed but she didn't look back.

She had no idea how far she ran or which way she went but Anna felt tears spring to her eyes when she saw the brightly lit convenience store. Pushing past the ache in her legs and the sharp pain in her breathing Anna forced herself to stumble through the glass door of the shop.

The girl at the cash register looked up from the magazine, her eyes widening in surprise and fear.

"Please, help me! This man is coming after me and please I need to hide," Anna glanced back over her shoulder, "please, he'll kill me or he would – he would –" she shuddered.

The girl looked from her face to the blood stained dagger in her hand.

"Please –"

"The washroom in the back," the girl nodded towards the aisle.

Anna didn't remember of the time she spent huddled between the toilet and the wall but she did bite back a sob when the key turned in the door she had locked. Anna looked up in terror as the girl stopped in the doorway before crouching down and placing a bottle of water before her.

"He came by minutes after you, I told him I saw you rushing past the shop," said the girl, "he'll be in the next block by now."

She had been so used to the disregard from her brother and her fiancé that any act of kindness from a stranger left her in awe.

"Thank you," Anna said.

"My Dad is calling the police, would you like to contact someone you know?" the girl held out her mobile phone.

Anna grasped it with a shaky hand and found her mind blank at the thought of whom to call. She could call Pierre at the Cottage but she didn't want to. Instead she dialed the number that she had quickly learned to count on, she dialed Aramis' number.

"Yes?" it wasn't his voice, it wasn't him.

For some reason it brought tears to her eyes and she sniffed.

"Captain Treville?" she wondered why the man was answering this phone.

* * *

A hushed conversation flitted around him as the darkness in his mind thinned out. The nagging worry burning in his heart wouldn't let him rest and d'Artagnan found himself breaching the surface again.

"….I don't know, he wouldn't tell me,"

"You should've stopped him Captain; even I could tell there was something off."

"He handed in his badge,"

"It's him leaving behind his phone that has me worried," Constance didn't sound worried, she sounded like she had been crying.

That realization alone was enough to give him the final push forwards. D'Artagnan inhaled audibly as he blinked open his eyes. Instantly he felt Constance's hand in his and offered her a reassuring squeeze. He could tell that his brothers weren't in the room, the salient awareness of their presence wasn't what shocked him but their lack of presence did.

"Hey you," he licked his dry lips, "where are the others?"

Constance dropped her eyes and wiped at her face even as she squeezed his hand tightly. She looked over her shoulder to the man standing behind her and motioned her head towards d'Artagnan.

"Let's get him sitting up Captain."

It was that more than anything that made the bottom of his stomach fall out; Constance not mothering him into an inch of his life was a sign of something far worse than his current condition. He silently cursed the medicine induced haze and tried to catch the woman's eyes; eyes that were bloodshot when they settled on him as Constance perched on the bed by his hip.

"There was a fire in a warehouse by the docks d'Artagnan, Athos and Porthos didn't make it," she clasped his hand even tighter.

He shook his head wildly and she cupped the side of his face to make him meet her eyes.

"D'Art –"

"Athos said they'll be back before I woke up."

"D'Art –"

"They're running late that's all,"

She reached up and cradled his face in both her hands, her own wet eyes seeking his anguished gaze.

"I'm sorry d'Artagnan," she said.

His stomach churned and rebelled and he knew it wasn't because of the medication. His entire world was thrown in disequilibrium and d'Artagnan felt a shiver trickle down his spine as the feeling of being tossed out into the waves washed over him. He had already lost a father, was he supposed to lose his brothers too?

He swallowed thickly and refused to let the tears fall.

"And Aramis?" he asked.

"We don't know," it was the Captain who answered, "He came by here, left me his things and a warning to keep an eye on the two of you."

"Where did he go?"

"He wouldn't say," Constance wiped at her eyes, "just hugged me and told me to stay safe."

"He's going to do something stupid," d'Artagnan pinched the bridge of his nose and wiped the moisture from his eyes.

"He left me this," Treville held up the plastic bag containing a hard-drive and a pendrive, "and said not to hand it in to Leon before oh-eight-hundred."

D'Artagnan stared at the two items that were the reason everything was going to hell in a runaway train. He didn't know if the beginning of the headache behind his eyes was worst or the bullet wound in his side.

"I was wrong; he's going to do something monumentally stupid." He groaned, "I need to go home."

"I don't think –"

"But I do," d'Artagnan cut off the Captain's words, "I'm going to go home so that I can find the two idiots who appear to be dead and then the moron who ran off to who-knows-where for who- knows-what and you Captain are going to get me out of here."

"Athos and Porthos are –"

"Not dead," d'Artagnan snapped and leveled a glare unto the older man that would have made Athos proud, "Not. Dead."

As Treville went to make arrangements to get d'Artagnan immediately discharged, 'for security reasons,' the younger man turned to the woman beside him with an apologetic smile.

"I'm going to need your help," he said.

"Clearly," she nodded.

By the time Treville returned with the papers, d'Artagnan was free of the IV and dressed ready to go. The older man didn't look pleased to find his charges eager to run off to fulfill whatever half baked plan had risen in d'Artagnan's pain medicated mind. The sour look on his face brought a flash of grin on the younger man's face.

His amusement was fleeting and d'Artagnan started when the mobile phone in the Captain's pocket rang. When Treville returned from answering it he looked paler than before as he explained that Ms. Ostair needed his immediate help.

"Go on," d'Artagnan told him, "We can handle this."

"But I promised Aramis –"

"We've got this," d'Artagnan repeated as he took the hardware package Aramis had left the Captain and nudged the man out the door.

His confidence had waned with his strength by the time the taxi dropped them off outside of the flat he shared with his brothers. Fearing that his knees would give out, he leaned against the wall and asked Constance to bring down his laptop. She didn't say a word but raised an eloquent brow when she handed him the piece of technology and d'Artagnan pushed away from the wall to perch on the edge of the pavement under the street light.

"After Aramis was taken I got a bit paranoid," he confessed to the woman, "I placed trackers of my own design in each of their clothes. Any piece of garment I'd find lying about, I'd pin a tracker on it."

"A bit paranoid?" Constance stared before she shook her head grinning, "Try completely."

"But it's gonna help us now," d'Artagnan was sure of it.

He ran the software and felt his heart clench when he put in the coordinates of the twin dots on his screen, only to find them to be at the docks. But he didn't lose hope; if the trackers were in enough working condition to show their positions then at least it meant that they hadn't been burned into nothing. That was the reasoning d'Artagnan held onto as they called another taxi and made their way to the docks.

* * *

His head throbbed mercilessly, exacerbated by the clickaty-clack of plastic buttons and he had half a mind to throw the pillow under his head at d'Artagnan. Porthos rolled onto his side and found his face stuck in a mop of hair that had the distinct ashy smell of fire. His nose scrunched as the memory of recent events flooded his mind and he shifted back instinctually when he felt the tapping on his arm.

"…'thos?" he blinked at the man beside him, voice coming in a scratchy whisper, "we're alive?"

"Apparently," Athos murmured and cleared his throat before wincing.

"How?" Porthos wanted to know.

He pushed himself to sit up on the cot they shared and looked around the vast space that was sporadically lit up with a couple of candles. Nearer to the cot was some medical paraphernalia that Porthos decided to ignore and instead focused onto the figure lit up by the computer screen of the desktop set up at a distance.

As Athos too swung his feet of the narrow bed, Porthos stood up.

"Hello?" he spoke loudly.

The short man with wild hair who turned to face them was definitely not d'Artagnan.

"I was wondering if I'll have to dump you at the hospital after all," she glided out of the shadows like a blade from behind silken drapes.

Porthos felt his jaw drop slightly while Athos stood up so fast that he swayed. Reaching out to steady his friend, the big man held on to his shoulder in a gentle restraint. But Athos was glaring at the woman who smirked back in challenge.

"You – you –"

"Yes me; I just saved your life Athos," M'Lady preened, "I followed you here to the docks and when it was clear that the two of you were intent on becoming the next tragic headline, I decided to step in and play it right."

Porthos frowned at her words; he had never liked the way she used them like hidden weapons, diverging and distracting until they stabbed you where she wanted. Rubbing a hand through his curls he squeezed the base of his skull and forced his tired mind to focus. He drew back his hand and stared at the bandage that presumably M'Lady had wrapped around his hand, Porthos clenched it in a fist.

"We're still at the docks," he stated and nodded to their surroundings, "another warehouse, near enough to hide us easily."

M'Lady watched him with interest as he pulled at his attention to clarify the question he wanted to ask.

"What do you mean by play it right?" he asked.

Her smile widened.

"I had my contacts provide me with two bodies to replace you both; it wasn't easy on such a short notice but it was worth it. To the outside world you're dead, I even threw in the items you were carrying on you." M'Lady said, "Until further investigation, you two can live a life without having to watch over your shoulders for Senior. You can expose him while he believes you're no longer a threat because as far as the world is concerned you two died in that fire."

Porthos blinked, he blinked again as he stepped back and sat heavily on the bed when its edge bumped into the back of his legs. He drew a hand over his face and tried not imagine the reaction of this news in the two they had apparently left behind. Aramis had been reeling on some edge Porthos hadn't been able to identify but he had nevertheless felt his brother standing on the precipice, this could be the shove that would send him over. And d'Artagnan, the boy just settling in among them, Porthos felt a jab in his chest at thought of what the young one would be going through.

He hadn't even noticed he had closed his eyes in pain until he opened them at the sound of a harsh gap. Sarazin was on his feet and staring unsurely at the spectacle Porthos found before him. Athos had grabbed his once-wife by the throat while the woman had the muzzle of a weapon pressed to his sternum even as she steadied her breathing.

"Why?" Athos demanded.

"You'll have to be specific my dear, there are a lot of whys between us," she smiled coyly.

"Why did you murder my brother? Why did you save my life?"

"Your brother was a threat to my cover," M'Lady shrugged a slim shoulder, her eyes not betraying the tightening hold around her neck.

"Athos –" Porthos took to his feet but his friend was beyond listening.

"So that's it? His death was a necessity in your grand scheme?"

"At the time," M'Lady's eyes flashed, "you walking in on it rather ruined the plans."

Athos gasped like he was the one getting his air supply cut. Porthos laid a hand on his arm ready to pull him back from the step he knew his brother wouldn't want to take despite the desire for it.

"And why save me now?" Athos voice had lost its strength.

"Because I need you alive," M'Lady smiled, "in my grand scheme."

Athos growled, Porthos' fingers tightened and he had no idea what would have happened if the door he hadn't yet considered looking for hadn't been kicked open with a resounding bang.

All four heads swiveled in the direction from where the fresh air filtered through.

And in the glow of the candles stepped up one thoroughly irritated Gascon.

M'lady instantly twisted out of Athos' grasp and trained her weapon on the new entrant. But d'Artagnan wasn't looking at her; he was staring fixedly at the two men he had clearly come looking for. Porthos saw the fear under the flash of relief in the young one's eyes, read the tense pain warring against welcomed respite in his lines.

"Take another step and I will shoot you," M'Lady said.

"Oh I brought something to shut you up," d'Artagnan threw a packet at her that she caught one handed, "you wanted the decryption code? I even brought you the evidence, go ahead and check it."

Looking very skeptical M'Lady threw the package to Sarazin and didn't let up her stance. D'Artagnan however didn't even spare her a glance as he covered the distance between them with fervor that Porthos realized at the last minute to be anger.

"You said you'd be there when I woke up," d'Artagnan stepped into Athos' space and jabbed a finger in his chest, "you told me you'd be there."

"d'Art –" Porthos began but silenced at the stern glare that turned to focus on him.

"And you! You with your hugs and your cupcakes and your insanely loud laugh, you big lug!" d'Artagnan threw an arm around each their necks and pulled them close, "You complete idiots! You idiots –"

He faltered and buried his face in the crook between them. Porthos felt a wan smile pull at his lips and shared a fond look with Athos over the limpet currently trying to choke them. Their youngest clung to them tightly enough for Porthos to consider the need for oxygen but the words were lost at the tip of tongue when he felt d'Artagnan shudder with a barely muffled sob.

Porthos clutched his back and felt Athos pull the boy closer to them. The big man couldn't imagine the fear and hurt the other two would have gone through at the news of their deaths. Closing his eyes against the magnitude of pain he could feel thrumming in the young man holding on to them, Porthos realized with an ache that Aramis wasn't there.

He wasn't there with d'Artagnan and the thought of the man alone somewhere shot a spike of fear in Porthos' chest.

"I can't believe it!" it was Sarazin's voice that forced them apart, "I can't believe it's the real thing, M'Lady look!"

The woman in question hurried to the screen and Porthos looked to d'Artagnan in silent inquiry. Their youngest shrugged in an apologetic, what-else-would-you-have-me-do way. Athos nodded and moved to see the evidence hidden away for so long that was finally come to light.

Porthos wasn't sure if he wanted to see it. By what he had gathered from Treville's confession he was certain he wouldn't be able to stomach the violent details of his friend's childhood. It ate him as it was that they hadn't pushed their brother to confide in them about the proof of his nightmares that was sometimes practically written on his face in bruises he brushed off as accidents. Porthos' fists clenched as he berated himself once more at having waited for Aramis to break his silence in bits and pieces instead of forcing him to speak up earlier.

"Where's Aramis?" he asked d'Artagnan.

"I don't know," d'Artagnan shook his head, "but I do have a starting point to look for him. I've saved the coordinates of the last signal from his tracker."

"Tracker?"

"Yeah… um I kinda bugged your clothing," d'Artagnan gave a sheepish grin, "all three of you."

Porthos let out a snort and pulled the boy in another embrace. D'Artagnan returned the hug but pulled away quickly when he heard Sarazin curse. He slipped closer to the man and tapped him on the shoulder; punching him out cold when he looked up.

Porthos hurried closer as Athos picked up M'Lady's weapon before she could.

"What's going on d'Art?" Athos didn't look away from the woman.

"Nothing much," d'Artagnan unplugged the computer and gathered the hardware he had brought, "it's just that when I was programming a fake pendrive for the Cardinal I added something to the original one; nothing too fancy, just a simple biometric identification before it finishes decoding the evidence. Now I'm sure you won't have a scanner here to take my thumb print would you?"

M'Lady's jaw clenched tight at the question addressed to her. Porthos couldn't hold back a chuckle at their younget's forethought and even Athos arched a brow in barely concealed pride. With an exasperated shake of his head he disassembled the weapon in his hand. The bullets scattered by his feet before he threw the pieces in opposite directions and glared at his wife.

"You saved my life and I'll spare yours," he told her, "but this is it, the last time I want to see your face."

D'Artagnan flashed a grin as he closed the package he had brought and looked to Athos.

"We have to find Aramis," he said, "he took your car but I found mine parked out there."

With a nod Athos marched out of the warehouse with d'Artagnan at his heels. Porthos' mind turned towards his absent brother and he just knew the man would have done something juvenile right about now, like sticking his tongue out at the woman who had haunted Athos for years now. It brought a sad smile on his face that settled heavily in his heart.

Porthos stepped out into the waning night and found his arms full of Constance.

* * *

He didn't want to think, not about the ache in his head, not about Anne and her reasons, not about Porthos' worried frown or d'Artagnan's anxious fidgeting, or Constance's silent questions every time she glanced his way. And he definitely did not want to think about what Aramis was up to.

"What's so special here?" d'Artagnan asked from no one in particular as they exited the car.

The café was across the street and closed like it should be. Athos checked his watch to find the time to be just past three and wondered if his brother would have found the man he assumed Aramis had come seeking here.

"Paul Meunier," he nodded towards the café, "uses the shop as a front but I don't think he works this late."

Porthos' frown deepened as he turned to stare at the darkened building.

"Why would he want to talk to Meunier?" he said.

"Why don't we ask the man himself?" d'Artagnan nodded towards the figure exiting the café and locking it up behind him.

As one they crossed the deserted street just as Meunir glanced over his shoulder. Athos was not surprised when the man made a run for it. He was beyond surprised when he saw the man hit the ground as Constance tackled him.

They were onto them before Meunier's surprised shriek had silenced.

"Nice!" Porthos grinned as he hauled the man off the floor.

"Well the walking wounded would've let him bolt," Constance smiled back as she dusted off her clothes and slapped away d'Artagnan's hands that hurried to check her over.

"Are you alright? Constance what were you thinking?" the younger man stared wide eyed.

"I'm fine d'Artagnan," she rolled her eyes, "and when I agreed to help you it wasn't restricted to just acting as your chauffer."

"Alright fine, next time I go into some crazy woman's lair to save these two, I'll bring you in with me," d'Artagnan scowled.

Athos turned his attention to the man squirming in Porthos' hold.

"What did Aramis want from you?" Athos asked him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Meunier grumbled, "let me go, I want nothing to do with this."

He twisted out of Porthos' grip but Athos grabbed him by the collar and gave him a shake.

"We know that Aramis came to you, there's no point in denying it," he glared at the man, "now what is it that you want nothing to do with?"

Meunier's eyes darted to take in the deserted, silent road and the darkened buildings before he pursed his lips and nodded. Athos knew a scared man when he saw one, he shoved the man back but didn't let go lest he ran again.

"Remember Bonnaire told you I had men everywhere?"

"So?"

"Your friend wanted me to spread a message, urgently;" Meunier ran a hand through his hair, "two messages actually."

Athos looked to Porthos who offered him a shrug. There was something in the back of his mind that was forming into a plan that Aramis might have put into action but Athos didn't want to go there, he didn't want it to be true. He pinned the man in his hold with a glare.

"What messages?"

"First for Victor Amadeus that Simon Cluzet murdered Vincent Amadeus," Meunier said, "second for everyone my men come into contact with, that the evidence that could destroy d'Herblay Empire would be changing hands at the d'Herblay Manor in the next five hours and d'Herblay the Third would be there to collect it."

Fear trailed down his spine in feather light touch and Athos let the man go with a suppressed shiver. Dots connected in his mind as his friend's plan became clear; he just couldn't believe that Aramis would make such a violent, insane move.

"How long ago was he here?" he asked Meuneir.

"He stayed to make sure the messages were out and left here about half an hour ago,"

Athos marched back to the car, cursing roundly as he went.

"What? Athos wait," Porthos grabbed his arm and turned him around, "What're you thinking Athos?"

Athos clenched his hands in fists to keep from punching the first solid surface he could find. He would save Aramis and then wring his neck for this particular stunt.

"Don't you see Porthos?" he asked his friend, "Victor would take out Cluzet which would have Cluzet's contacts coming out with all the proof against Senior he had been sitting on. Senior's contacts who carried out the deeds would want revenge for the betrayal of being incriminated and his enemies would see that he is weakening. Combine that with the now common knowledge where Senior will assuredly be and Victor and all the rest would be heading to the Manor where Aramis is going to lure his father with the fake evidence since he left the original one behind!"

He was breathing heavily and Athos didn't want to consider the moisture that had escaped from his eyes. His stupid brother was using himself as bait for a blood bath and Athos couldn't keep the thought of that from piercing his heart with fear.

"He's starting a war," Porthos breathed out.

"No," Athos shook his head, "he's ending one."

He slid out of Porthos' slack hold and got into the car, switching on the radio on the news channel as they drove out of the street. They would hand in the evidence Aramis had left behind and alert the authorities, this was beyond their control now.

… _"Are you alright?" Athos looked him directly in the eye._

 _Aramis crossed his arms in front of his chest and offered him a shrug._

 _"I am because you are," he said._

 _"Aramis…"_

 _"I waited to see if you were alive," his gaze wandered around the wall behind Athos, "He'd gone too far this time and if he had succeeded."_

 _The flinty dark brown eyes looked squarely at Athos._

 _"I would have emptied my rifle in his head," Aramis said, "I had him in my scope."…_

…Guilt and fear warred in him and Athos wondered not for the first time where had they gone off track. He had no idea how everything had spiraled so out of control; how silently had the past and present intertwined, leading them here; on to a war path.

The smooth tone of the woman cut through the silence in the car and his own wandering thoughts.

"…yes, neighbors reported the shots fired but we're not sure if it's a robbery gone wrong. We are told that there is only one death on the scene. Simon Cluzet who lived alone in his home at…." Athos switched off the radio.

It had begun.

* * *

 **Thank you everyone who read, follow and favorite this story. Dear people who leave me reviews, you inspire me to hurry up and write [although with the delay for this chapter it may not seem that way, but I was writing, honest :)]**

 **My plan was to make this chapter the second last but it couldn't be so. This is now the third last chapter.**


	21. Chapter 21

**WARNING:** **Possible medical and law inaccuracies, there will be a tiny bit coarse language and RATED M FOR VIOLENCE AND BLOOD [Aramis has lost it, that's all I can say.]**

* * *

It was odd to find the place buzzing at this hour, people carrying stacks of folders and boxes of old files moved between the desks, sharing information, organizing, dividing and noting who was covering what as the chatter of those hooked to telephones filled the space with white noise. This was not what Athos had expected when Leon had told them to just come down to the office before cutting the call.

They weaved their way through the contained chaos until Athos spotted Leon deep in a discussion with Treville. The Captain glanced their way, turned back to Leon but wiped his head back around a second later. The grin that broke on his face was nothing like any of them had seen before.

In long bounds the Captain covered the distance between them and pulled Athos and Porthos in an embrace. Athos looked to his friend and found the big man just as surprised by the welcome; it wasn't that they had thought they wouldn't be missed but it seemed the reach of their loss had been wider and deeper then they had assumed.

Treville pulled back but grasped them both by a shoulder, his eyes suspiciously bright as he gave them a squeeze.

"I couldn't believe it when Leon said you called," he smiled, "I'm so happy you boys are alive. And you," Treville turned to d'Artagnan and grabbed him by the shoulders, "you were right and I have never been this thankful that I was wrong."

"We can't be rid of that easily Captain," Porthos smiled and tilted his head towards the activity going on, "what's going on here?"

"That," Leon nodded towards the muted television set up on the wall, "that's what happened. It's on every news channel. We're trying to control the damage over here. "

There were sifting images, fading one after the other on the screen, the tags shifting with the names of the people in the photographs. The slideshow paused on a black strip that showed the jumping peaks of voice recording and Leon shook his head in disgust.

"Someone just handed over evidence of a decade's worth of cold cases to these people," he rubbed the back of his neck, "we don't know what the backlash would be. There are some big names involved and the dangerous ones we already had on our radar would likely exit the country before we can get warrants."

Leon's hand clenched in a fist beside him and Athos halted in his eagerness to share the information Aramis had left behind. He would have to play this carefully, making sure not to incriminate his brother for the worst of it.

"What if you could arrest the man at the center of it all," he asked the Detective, "if you had proof enough to get his arrest warrants right now?"

Leon frowned.

"We'll need to take this somewhere private," Porthos spoke up before the Detective could.

And that was how the five men found themselves in the supplies cupboard, Constance having flatly refused to follow them in. Leon shifted against the far wall lined with narrow shelves and crossed his arms before his chest.

"Anytime before we run out of oxygen in here," he said.

Athos nodded to d'Artagnan and the boy handed Leon the plastic bag. Treville eyed the packet then looked back up at Athos, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Are you telling me that I've been holding on to what I think I've been holding on to?" he demanded.

"The evidence in there is against Rene d'Herblay the Third, I can decode it for you," d'Artagnan told the Detective.

"And we can tell you where you will find the man in the next few hours," Porthos added.

"But we need your word that you will pull Aramis out of there unscathed," Athos told the man before considering the luck the four of them had been having, "relatively unscathed," he corrected.

Leon looked down at the object in his hand then back up at the three men, understanding dawning over his face even as an incredulous look crept in his eyes.

"He's behind this isn't he? Aramis is the reason this can of worms has blown wide open," Leon shook his head and raised a hand before anyone could get a word in edgewise, "don't – just don't tell me – let me have plausible deniability. I mean what the hell was he thinking?"

Athos refrained from answering that, but he had a deep desire to demand the same from his absent brother. Once they had saved Aramis he would shake the man until some explanation rattled out of his brain as to what he was thinking taking such an insane step.

"So will you help us then?" Porthos asked.

Leon clenched his jaw and gave them a sharp nod. They followed him out and to the empty office the Detective Inspector led them to. Leon nodded to the computer set up on the table and placed the evidence beside the monitor.

"That all you need?" he asked d'Artagnan.

"I'll need a biometric scanner,"

Leon's eyebrows rose to his hairline and he looked to the others as though waiting for them to break out grinning. When the punch-line wasn't forthcoming his shoulders deflated and he left the room with a grumble, dodging Constance on his way out.

The woman dumped her armload of cold sandwiches and water bottles on the table.

"Sit, eat," she ordered.

"Constance –" Porthos shook his head.

"Don't you dare deny that you're exhausted," Constance shoved a bottle of water and a sandwich in his hands, "when was the last time you ate something? You're worried for Aramis and I get that, but what good would you do him falling flat on your face?"

"She's right Porthos," Athos added, "you're running on fumes."

He did not expect the young woman turning to him with a glare.

"And you too, you've been rescued from a burning building, only hours ago for crying out loud!" Constance frowned, "I don't like the haggard look you two are trying to bring into fashion and don't think I can't hear the rasp in your voice Porthos."

Athos looked to the big man who shrugged back in a helpless sort of a way and the two of them took a chair each, with as much dignity as they could. It didn't help that d'Artagnan and Treville were sharing wide grins.

"You didn't tell us what you're doing here Captain," Athos said.

"I came down initially with Ms. Ostair. She escaped from Rochefort who attempted to kidnap her," he said as he leaned against the table with a shake of his head, "but then I got the call that Richelieu was murdered."

"What?" three voiced echoed.

"In one of Louis' waterfront properties," the Captain clarified, "Leon said they had rescued Fleur from the area only hours before and tonight Richelieu's body was found there as well as a woman's. She's identified as Isabelle Grey. Louis had contacted the Chief to solve the matter urgently."

Athos hardly listened to what followed after the name of the woman; his mind had gone blank at the name and he suddenly felt like there was a lot that they were missing.

"Isabelle Grey?" Porthos asked quietly, "are you sure it was Isabelle Grey?"

"Yes, why?"

Porthos dropped the sandwich he had bit into and swallowed thickly.

"She was Aramis' wife," he groaned, "ex-wife – he loved her,"

The silence that followed was heavy and broken only by d'Artagnan muttering under his breath. Athos looked at the younger man who had his brows drawn in concentration as though he was trying to decipher some obscure code.

"What is it d'Artagnan?" Athos asked, "Out with it."

The younger man's frown deepened and he looked to the Captain.

"Were they found at Louis' property that's called the Three Flats?" he asked.

Treville gave him a surprised nod and d'Artagnan shook his head in a painful sort of denial.

"d'Artagnan?" Constance urged the man to explain.

"Aramis was there," he spoke in a whisper, "he was there tonight."

Athos felt the bottom of his stomach fall out; had Aramis crossed the line? Had he murdered Richelieu in revenge for the murder of his ex-wife?

"How can you be sure?" he asked.

"The trackers," d'Artagnan said, "two of them stopped transmitting signals from that point and the third was damaged there until it gave out near Meunier's café."

"He didn't do it," Porthos snapped at everyone, "he's not a murderer."

"There's only so much a man can take Porthos," Treville reasoned.

The big man shook his head and Athos reached out to grasp his arm. He shoved away all the horrible possibilities that were vying for his attention and cleared his throat.

"We're not assuming the worst," he said and turned to d'Artagnan with a rare wry smile, "as for your trackers, when we're done with this I'll sit you down and explain the concept of boundaries."

"Boundaries?" d'Artagnan rolled his eyes, "you two don't get to talk about boundaries when neither of you could sleep without a cuddle pile after we got Aramis back."

Constance broke into a giggle even as Porthos snorted and Athos found himself smiling. Leon returned with the required hardware and d'Artagnan quickly set up the system, making a short work of the decoding before turning the screen towards Leon.

The Detective Inspector flipped on the head phones as he went over the evidence. Athos was glad that he didn't see the results because Leon went a shade greener and clicked out of the proof just a few minutes in.

"Let's get this bastard," Leon said.

* * *

The road stretched empty before him; illuminated by the lights of his car as the world poised on the edge of the night, holding its breath for the coming dawn. A silence had descended in his mind from the second he had settled behind the steering wheel about half an hour ago. It was the quiet of a sniper taking aim, finger curled around the trigger but stilled; waiting, alert.

His gaze shifted onto the rearview mirror; cataloguing the first glint of the car far behind before he turned his attention back onto the road. It was the speed with which it approached that told him something was off. Aramis was braced for the hard jolt when the car hit his from behind, throwing him in a wobble.

He glanced in the rearview mirror again; Rochefort grinned as their gazes locked and Aramis ducked when he saw the flash of weapon extending out the window, just before muffled shots broke the air. The sound of shattering glass was drowned by the screeching tires as Aramis severed to the side, dislodging the car tailing him.

A volley of shots buried in the side of the car as Rochefort drew parallel and fired, doing his best to ram into the side of Aramis' car. Aramis hit the brakes hard, the seatbelt bit into his skin as he jerked violently to the side when the engine of his car caught in tail end of Rochefort's skidding vehicle.

He watched in a haze of suffocating pain as the car before him slid onto the dirt edge of the road, spraying dust and stone and still careening sideways until it tipped; landing on its side like a dead bull.

Sharp cutting pain hitched his breath and Aramis unbuckled the seatbelt with shaky hands before swinging open the door. The air he tried to gulp burned in his chest and exploded in a cough, forcing him onto his knees on the ground beside the open door.

Red stained the asphalt.

His fingers pressed against the cold rough surface as he tried the clutch the slipping world, not ready to fall into oblivion before finishing what he had started. He pulled in another breath and exhaled slowly, forcing his stuttering breathing into a rhythm.

He owed this.

To Athos and Porthos; their deaths wouldn't be in vain.

To d'Artagnan; whose life wouldn't be shadowed anymore by Senior.

Aramis wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and rested the other on his chest. He dared not loosen the bulletproof vest; acutely aware that it was likely the one thing holding his ribs in place. The stumbling feet in his view forced him to look up at the man.

Rochefort swiped the hand holding his mobile phone under his bleeding nose and raised the other with his weapon trained on Aramis' forehead.

"Gimme tha packhage," he said.

"Senior sent you," it wasn't a question.

" 'magine my thurprize that y' called 'im," he shifted his weight, "thought y' were dead."

"And what did he say?"

Rochefort pressed his nose with the back of his wrist and sniffed. He glanced down and a grin spread on his face.

"That I could finish the job after I secured the package," he said.

Aramis didn't know what was worse, that his father had given a go ahead for his murder or that he wasn't surprised that Senior had done it. He took in Rochefort's appearance; his mind rapidly sorting through the information, noting advantages, disadvantages, possibilities, probability and Aramis moved between one breath and the next.

Grabbing the wrist of the hand holding the gun he pulled the man forward; dodged the bullet that buried next to his foot and kneed Rochefort in the sternum before stepping aside and behind the man, wrenching his arm up and around until he felt the shoulder give and Rochefort screamed.

He dropped the gun as his arm hung useless by his side and swung back with a punch from his left.

Aramis ducked under the wild fist coming for his head and kicked the ankle he had noticed Rochefort favoring. The howl of pain from the man as he fell on his back turned into a string of curses when Aramis didn't retract his foot from where he had stamped down on the other man's ankle; the bones shifting under the pressure.

He didn't let up even when Rochefort clawed at his foot with his good hand, cursing and mewling between ragged breaths.

Aramis shook his head lightly to clear the flashing dots in his vision and felt the taste of coppery warmth at the back of his throat. Coughing up the blood, he stepped back from the man and Rochefort rolled onto his side with a screech of pain.

Aramis kicked away Rochefort's weapon and stomped down onto the mobile phone he had dropped in favor of clutching his leg. He couldn't have the man contacting Senior.

"You shouldn't have come in my way," he said.

Rochefort spat curses at him but Aramis was already getting in the car. He heard Rochefort scream after him then, pleading and angry, telling him that he couldn't leave the man behind.

"I'll die out here Aramis! You can't leave me!"

Aramis revved the car back to life.

"I need help!" Rochefort yelled, "ARAMIS!"

But he was already pulling away; his mind already set back on the path he had fallen on. It was too bad for Rochefort that Aramis had died right alongside his brothers.

* * *

Leon had alerted the local authorities and warned them of the danger they could face at the Manor. The property was sprawling and built away from the settlements nearby, there were too many variables to cover if they were to close the net around Senior.

Porthos watched the Detective pouring over the map he had laid out on the engine of his car as the back-up got ready. He checked his watch and silently urged the people to hurry up; Aramis already had an hour's head start over them. Porthos didn't want to imagine what awaited his friend at the Manor.

The crisp air of the not-quite-dawn felt cold on his face and tickled down his throat like a thistle. He really hoped that he wasn't coming down with the bronchitis again, the one after his near drowning was enough to last him a life time.

Porthos cleared his throat and forced himself to not give in to the urge to cough.

"Constance isn't the only one who can hear the rasp," Athos came to stand beside him.

"Have you heard yourself?"

"Pots and kettles then," Athos agreed.

Porthos offered him a tiny smile and watched the young couple on the other side of the car. D'Artagnan was leaning back against the vehicle as he tried to convince the young woman before him, but it was obvious in the way Constance stood that she was having none of it. She crossed her arms before her chest and glared at the man.

"She's perfect for him isn't she?" Porthos said.

"And he's perfect for her," Athos murmured.

Porthos glanced sideways at his friend and wondered if the young couple brought back memories of Athos' own romance. He may have never warmed up to Anne but Porthos wasn't blind to the way Athos and her had seemed to have fit into spaces of each other's sharp edges. There was a reason Athos had fell for her after all, and he had fallen for Anne, hard and fast.

"Can you imagine losing 'Mis and I together?" Porthos couldn't keep the question down anymore.

He ignored the way Athos turned to stare at him and kept his gaze fixed on Constance who looked like she was suppressing a grin.

"I'd probably follow you two one way or another," Athos confessed in almost a whisper.

Porthos' gut churned, he had found himself on the same path when he had put himself in Aramis' shoes. It may be wrong; it may not make sense to anyone else but them, still it was frighteningly clear to him. Porthos turned to look his friend in the eyes.

"That's what I thought for myself – if I lost you two like that, blink and you're gone – out of the blue. And that's what I think he's doing," he said, "the two of us can't fault him for that."

Athos eyes widened, the blue lit clear and bright in the grey light of the dusk peeking through the edge of the sky, and Porthos saw the anger, one that had been simmering there from the time they had talked to Meunier, melt away like ice on water. Only the fear it had veiled was left behind.

For all his strategic thinking, Athos could be blind to the simplest solutions because his heart would deny them; but Porthos didn't mind pointing out the obvious.

The roar of the engine had them both turning to the road in unison. The motorcycle came around the curb with a squeal of tires and they saw d'Artagnan pull Constance away from the road just as the man on the on the motorcycle opened fire.

It was purely on instinct that they hit the floor as fiery spray of metal arched above them. The police fired back and the motorcycle zigzagged on the road before crashing into the pavement.

Porthos and Athos were moving forward even before they had gotten to their feet. Stumbling up they dashed to where they had last seen the young couple; stopping only when they had hit their knees by the two on the ground.

"d'Artagnan? Constance?"

The young man lifted his face from where he was lying on top of the woman. Pushing back strands of dark hair with a shaky hand he gave a silent nod, before looking down at the wide eyed woman under him.

"He didn't get you did he?" he asked in a quivering breath.

Constance shook her head.

Porthos helped up the younger man as Athos eased Constance off the road.

The arm in his grip shivered with the rush of adrenalin and the big man pulled d'Artagnan in a one armed hug. Constance had her face buried in Athos shoulder who was looking drawn and pale as well. Suppressing the shudder that threatened to break out, Porthos gave d'Artagnan another squeeze and pushed him gently towards Athos and Constance.

He didn't wait to see the younger man pull Constance in his arms as he went over to the man the police was hauling up to his feet. Porthos grabbed the man by the front of his jacket and punched him in the face. Seething with barely contained rage he dimly registered the hands holding him back as he raised his fist again.

"Porthos calm down! Please! You can't –" Athos grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to meet his gaze, "don't," he said.

He hated it, he hated the turn their life had taken and Porthos wished he could pound into something to just throw off the fear and rage pressing on his chest. Instead he breathed through his nose and nodded to his friend, aware that Athos had still not let go of him.

"I'm alright," he told his friend and glared over his shoulder at the man in handcuffs, "Senior sent you didn't he?"

The man with the broken nose cast a quick glance at all the uniforms surrounding him.

Porthos growled.

"I had orders," the man breathed out, "four hours, had to wait four hours,"

"For what?" Leon demanded.

"Wait four hours before taking out the boy, unless he called," the man licked his busted lip, "he didn't call. Look I'll give a full confession, I'll tell you all about the orders I was given, there are others too with their own marks to tail –"

"Get him out of my sight and cover the people he names as targets" Leon turned to the nearest officer, "and we're going to need helicopters, I'm not risking anymore lives."

The officer nodded and hurried away.

"We're moving out in fifteen minutes," Leon told Athos.

As the police ebbed back, Porthos realized it was only four of them left. Constance regarded him with a smile, her eyes red-rimmed but no longer wet. Athos didn't let go of his shoulder even as the other two stepped close.

"Are you alright?" Porthos asked the couple again.

"Not a scratch," d'Artagnan's smile was genuine if a bit shaky.

"Good," Porthos cleared his throat, "he said four hours to wait before Senior contacted him again. If Aramis had four hours to give the evidence to Senior and he told the Captain to hand it to Leon at eight, it's a five hours drive to the Manor from here –"

"Aramis wasn't planning to keep Senior in place for the authorities," Athos nodded, "he's doing it to provide a window to Senior's enemies."

Porthos didn't want to believe it, he didn't want to think about it but the fear was too persistent. He looked to Athos and knew his brother was on the same line of thought; Aramis planned to see Senior dead this day and Porthos wondered if the man's enemies failed, would Aramis then do the deed himself?

* * *

The gates were closed and curved in where the car had smashed in them. He walked past the broken driver fallen half out of the open door and the crushed engine that was still giving off steam. Wedging himself between dented metal, he shouldered his way in from where the gates met each other.

A few of the ornate lights lining the pavement were missing their globes, the tiny shards of exploded glass glittering at their base over the gravel of the winding driveway. The long curling driveway of the Manor that was dotted with bodies. His father's enemies had tried the direct route; clearly they didn't know the man like he did.

You had to trap him, to hold him down in one place to make him a target or Senior would slip away like water in a fist.

As the glass crunched under his boots, a loud crack followed the bullet that drilled a hole before his toes. He stopped and looked up, following the trajectory to the shooter. Even from the distance he could tell the man in the tree was startled when their eyes met.

"I'm here to see my father," he spoke as loud as his lungs would allow.

There was a heavy grip settled around his chest that he didn't wish to dwell on, it was like a claw was squeezing his lungs with every breath he took. Instead he focused on the four men who came up to meet him. He wordlessly handed over his the weapon on his belt, not wanting them to know about the one strapped above his ankle. Aramis raised a brow at the man who came near to pat him down. It stopped the black clad man in his tracks who glanced uncertainly at his fellows.

"No special treatments Rene," the leader scowled and stepped forward.

His fingers touched Aramis' shoulder and an audible snap preceded a scream.

The man staggered back, cradling his broken wrist to his chest as three guns aimed at the newcomer. Aramis cocked his head to the side just a little, assessing the situation and the scenarios panning out. He didn't care about these men one way or another but if they planned to delay him longer he would object.

Brutally.

"Take him, just take him to the boss," the leader groaned as he turned away.

Aramis nodded to the closest man as a signal to lead the way. He wasn't bothered by the weapons trained on him by two men following after, he could only think of what lay ahead.

They led him through the hall that was lit up with the early morning light pooling in from the long open windows and up the stairs. It left him feeling like he was treading water, out of breath and weightless but he refused to let it show.

Calm, controlled and measured, no one needed to know the damage behind that.

The distant echo of gunfire in the rear grounds of the Mansion stopped the men in their tracks and they shared some silent conversation Aramis wasn't privy to.

"I think you'll be more useful to greet the company just arrived," Aramis inclined his head towards the doors at the end of the corridor, "I can find my way to his study."

The sound of firing was nearer in the next round and the men left hastily. Aramis turned his back to the retreating figures and made his way to the thick doors; for all the times he'd been dragged through them kicking and screaming he felt nothing at the sight of these doors anymore.

He was past the point of pain and fear, having taken too much of it. It was time to give it back now, to destroy the heart of it and maybe save those who could still be saved.

Not bothering to knock he pushed open the doors of his father's study.

The man by the window turned to face him with a crystal glass of liquor in one hand, looking for all the world like he was enjoying the early morning on a day off from work. But it was the gun stuck in the side of his belt and the tightness around his mouth that told Aramis his father was stressed.

"You're late," Senior said.

"Only fashionably," Aramis closed the door behind him, "seems like you have been busy entertaining my guests."

His father's blue eyes narrowed imperceptibly, his jaw tightened before his perfectly aligned teeth flashed in a grin. Senior raised the glass in a taunting salute towards his Aramis.

"Well played son," he said.

Once upon a time the title had made him flinch; now it just rolled off of him, because Aramis realized that it wouldn't matter soon. He extracted the packet he had stuck under his belt at the small of his back and tossed it on his father's table.

"I brought what you asked for," he said.

They both turned their eyes to the window when the sound of gunshots felt like it was coming right from under it. The younger man didn't miss the way Senior's fingers tightened around the glass.

When the din faded, the older man sauntered over to the table and picked up the packet, turning it in the light with just a hint of a frown on his face.

He tossed the package on the carpeted floor and pulling out his weapon he shot it full of holes; the packet of hardware slipping and shifting from the force of the bullets like a twitchy living thing. Aramis drew his eyes up to regard his father when silence reigned again.

"Overkill," he said.

"Cathartic," the older man shrugged a shoulder and downed the contents of his glass in one go. He smacked it onto the table and scowled.

"You've caused me a lot of trouble boy," he said.

"It seems not enough though," Aramis tilted his head to listen to the distant sirens of police cars, "you're still alive,"

"Trapped me in here like a – a –,"

"A rat?" Aramis bared his teeth in not quite a grin "welcome to my world then. Not so fun to be the one looking over your shoulder is it?"

Senior pushed away from the table and smoothed a hand over his suit jacket. He was pulling back from his fears and gaining control, Aramis could tell, he had learned the trick from the man himself after all. It was amusing to see him on the back foot for once; Aramis chuckled when the older man wiped his head back to stare out the window as the grating sound of a voice through a loudspeaker scratched the air. The policeman still sounded far off, likely stopped at the gates of the Mansion.

Aramis cleared his throat to suppress the tickle in his breath.

"I think they're asking you to surrender," he said.

For a second absolute fury seeped into Senior's visage and his hand tightened around the weapon he pulled out from his belt. His eyes pierced the younger man; hardening at the defiance he hadn't been able to beat out of him still.

"I should have snapped your neck the day you were born," he said.

Aramis wasn't surprised that his words didn't hurt.

"But you wanted an heir," he said, "That's why you murdered her and not me that day, my mother was an obstacle in your way and no matter how much you hated me, you still needed a successor."

The younger man ignored the battle ensuing outside, this room, this man was what mattered right now. A grim smile played on his lips as he looked at his father.

"But everything ends here father, you won't leave behind the empire you've built. The d'Herblay legacy will end today and that includes both of us," he grinned when shock dawned on the older man's face, "don't look so surprised father; your game ended for me hours ago."

Aramis was not expecting the door behind him to be kicked open. He had to grab the back of a chair to keep his balance when he turned around. The shiny dots floating in his vision didn't clear as quickly as he hoped but the hazy man in the doorway seemed familiar.

"And who the hell are you?" Senior enquired.

"You don't know me?" the man sounded incredulous.

Aramis knew that voice, had encountered it first in a snow covered forest and then in this very Manor, both times this man had left him damaged. He shook his head to fix a glare onto Victor Amadeus.

"You don't know me d'Herblay?"

"Should I?"

"My father was Vincent Amadeus and today I'll finally be able to put his memory to rest,"

Senior frowned at the man and Aramis saw the recognition in his father's eyes a second before he saw a flash of something else. He barely had time open his mouth when Senior gunned down Victor. The shock of the dying man etched eternal on his face.

"A waste of time these sentiments, don't you think?" Senior toed the body of the man at his feet, "stops you from taking decisive action."

Senior cocked his head to the side as the unmistakable sound of helicopter rotors chopping through the air reached them. He smiled as he stepped away from his son a little bit.

"Never could make you see that," he raised his weapon to his son's head, "guess you can't beat sense into people,"

Aramis met his father's eyes as the man pressed the trigger.

He didn't close his eyes.

He didn't feel the pain.

And it took his some seconds to realize he hadn't heard the shot fired.

Aramis glanced down at the weapon his father was staring at and it clicked a little belatedly in his mind that his father was out of bullets. As the older man cursed and threw the weapon in a rare display of frustration, he missed the weapon his son had unstrapped from his leg.

Aramis saw his eyes widening, saw the raw surprise on Senior's face.

"Son?"

Aramis smirked and took the shot.

A rough scream tore from Senior as he fell on his rear, blood and bone fragments spraying from his shattered knee cap. He clutched his thigh and moaned, screaming again when Aramis kicked the foot of his damaged leg.

"But you can teach them how to make people suffer," Aramis spoke conversationally, "thank you for the lessons father."

He raised his weapon again and Senior dragged himself backwards. Despite his bleeding leg he tried his best to get away. Aramis arched a brow at the futility of it as the man pushed himself between his desk and the wall, leaving a bloody trail in his wake.

Aramis stared at the stained carpet; this room had soaked up too much of his blood, in drops and trickles before he had managed to stumble out long after he was left alone. It had sopped up the pool of his mother's blood, leaving no stain of her murder behind; it seemed only fitting that it should taste his father's blood as well.

So caught up was he in his own mind that Aramis was startled when the doors of the study were banged open. Men in uniform swarmed in, weapons raised and pointed at him with Leon at the front.

But that was not what his eyes settled on, it were the two dear faces he hadn't imagined seeing again.

" 'Mis?" Porthos' voice was an embrace, warm, comforting and safe.

Aramis shivered and closed his eyes; his weapon didn't lower where it was trained on his father.

"Please don't do this mon frère," Athos tone was a balm, cool and soothing over the raw wounds in his soul.

Aramis bit his lip and ignored the ghosts come to haunt him. Maybe this was it, the blood loss finally affecting his brain, his draining life latching onto the one source of comfort it had always known.

Ghosts they may be but it took every ounce of his will power to not look at their faces, he would break if he did. Already he could feel something stirring in him, a strange sense of life that he hadn't even felt going out in his heart in the first place.

"Whoa shit! You can't do this Aramis!"

That voice.

He looked at the young face from the corner of his eyes.

"d'Art?" Aramis frowned, "you're not supposed to be here."

"And you're not supposed to do this," the boy countered.

"You're really here?" Aramis had to ask, he was seeing ghosts after all.

"Want me to punch you to show you how real I am?"

The corner of his lip lifted uncertainly, unsure of the smile in so many ways.

"Just do it Rene," Senior snapped at him, "just finish this."

Aramis looked down at his father, slumped bleeding and pale at the end of his weapon. For the first time he was the one with the power, the one standing over the cowering unarmed form to execute the decision he see fit.

And it made him feel sick.

In that moment he _**knew**_ , the clarity blinding his mind like a detonated flash bomb. He knew that of all that he had heard of apples and trees it seemed that he may not have fallen far but he had rolled away, out of the shadow of his father. He was not Aramis, the persona he was chasing and he was not Rene, the past he was running from; he was someone else, someone who he didn't know yet but who was in parts both.

And that meant that he could not, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much he hated the man, he could not commit a murder.

Aramis lowered his weapon as he turned to look at d'Artagnan fully; their smiles matching in bright intensity. He stepped back from his father and let his eyes wander to the two pale ghosts, his hand rising of its own accord with an ache to touch them.

The move aborted in a cough as red warmth bubbled up his chest and dribbled out the corner of his mouth. His right knee gave out as he coughed again and something gave up in his chest.

The flash of white hot pain drowned in the realization that he couldn't breathe. There was a river in his throat, pouring out of his mouth and he couldn't breathe.

He didn't feel the hands on him, didn't know that he didn't hit the floor but was carefully lowered down; he didn't hear the panic in the voices that called for the paramedics.

* * *

He didn't like the way Aramis wouldn't even look at them. Hated how their brother ignored their presence but Porthos felt his heart screech to a stop when he saw Aramis fall. The hand that had been reaching out curled instead around his chest as his friend coughed.

It was the sight of blood that had Porthos moving.

He caught Aramis as he swayed on his knees, alarm kicking up several notches at the amount of blood pouring past his friend's lips.

"C'mon now, you're fine 'Mis, you're fine," Porthos tore his gaze away from the rapidly fading brother in his grip, "what's wrong with him Athos?"

"I – I don't –get him on his side, lay him down," Athos looked pale as a sheet as he called for the paramedics over his shoulder.

Porthos complied, setting him down carefully, his big hand coming to rest on the side of Aramis' neck where the skin was freezing under his palm. Blood still trickled past his friend's lips but the big man felt his heart stutter when he found the brown eyes opened.

Dulled and glazed over, pupils blown wide with pain, but still looking at him directly in the face.

"Hi there," Porthos' voice came out rough and low.

Aramis blinked slowly, his eyes sliding over the faces leaning closer, rolling up a bit when Athos' hand slid in his hair before slanting over to d'Artagnan. His breath hitched and whistled out in a faltering exhale.

"Thank you…" he said to their youngest.

D'Artagnan wiped harshly at his face.

"Thank me when you can stand up and take the beating I plan to give you," d'Artagnan spoke thickly, "You stupid bastard why didn't you wait for me?"

"Time…limit…four hours…"

"Yeah I know – just this makes me mad alright?" d'Artagnan actually sobbed and clasped Aramis' hand that had twitched in an attempt to reach him, "it's all so wrong…"

Aramis cleared his throat wetly, his eyes finding Athos and Porthos again.

"Come to…take me with…?"

Porthos nodded instantly but stopped short at Athos' loud no!

"Damnit Aramis we're alive! We're not dead. NOT. DEAD." Athos' fingers curled tightly in his brother's hair, "Y' here me Aramis, we're alive, not dead and you can't – can't – you can't –alright?"

"Yeah, we're alive…. 'Mis please –" Porthos squeezed the side of his neck, "We're here, we're alive, we made it Aramis."

His brows pulled in confusion before smoothing out in a soft smile, his eyes lingered on their faces like they were an endearing mirage he wished to permanently sear in his brain. Aramis' gaze stayed on the three of them even when the paramedics pushed them back.

"Rib fracture –no breath sounds on his right,"

"– gimme a chest tube –"

His eyes remained on the three faces until they closed.

No fuss.

No fear.

Porthos clasped Athos' arm so tight he might have cracked the bone.

"You gotta beat?"

"Negative,"

"Charge it,"

The high pitched whine of the charging defibrillator and the slow beats that the electricity eventually coaxed out of his brother's heart would haunt Porthos for all his life. It was something that would remain with him forever even when he wouldn't remember a damn thing that came after watching Aramis get Medevaced.

* * *

There was a point, he thought he knew about it already but he was wrong, there was a point that he had only just found and it was a point where he was so exhausted that he couldn't possibly rest. It was a point of being charged by being wrung out and the point of it was that Athos had no idea what the point was – he was lost.

The chair under him would have been uncomfortable if he had actually been able to feel it.

He hoped d'Artagnan was getting some rest; Constance had dragged him home after Aramis had come out of the surgery. A seven hour surgery to put together the damage the three of them hadn't even known about. Athos still couldn't keep track of it, broken ribs, collapsed lung, blood loss, busted cartilages in his knee, fractured wrist; the damage was mostly to his right side. Athos had no idea how it happened although they had found three bullets buried in the bulletproof vest Aramis had worn. But that was not the point, the point was he was alive – for now – that's what the machines were saying any way.

One floor below him was Porthos; he had basically shut down when they had airlifted Aramis out of that forsaken Manor. Now he was being kept overnight for observation because the doctors were afraid he was at risk of contracting bronchitis – again – near drowning and nearly burned alive in a matter of months wasn't a good thing for the lungs. And the point was he was safe – for the time being he was under careful watch, the doctors were adamant about it.

Last Athos had seen him, he was asleep with Flea at his side; she had escaped the wound with muscle damage alone – but the point Athos had to insist was that she shouldn't have been injured in the first place, not at the hands of her friend.

The watch on his wrist told him it was night outside. Athos would have to believe it; the ICU cubicle didn't have windows – just curtains.

His eyes settled on the handcuff that linked Aramis' good wrist to the bed railing. The police weren't clear on the matter of his involvement in all this so they weren't taking any risks. He was hooked up to machines so that he could breathe, had gone into cardiac arrest twice and still they insisted on him being a flight risk.

Athos couldn't argue, his brother had gone to war with a wrist and knee that shouldn't work while his lung bled out in his chest – besides Leon had insisted Athos stay with Aramis so he couldn't really be mad at the man.

He was tired.

He was so exhausted that he could do with a night out with his friends.

They had won after all.

All day the news channels had covered the fall of the d'Herblay empire; every dark deed had come out of the woodworks and left behind its collapsing structure.

They had won because Senior was alive, he would go to trial, he would face the consequences and he would watch as all that he had worked to build tumble around his ears. He would suffer the loss he had inflicted on so many others, he was injured where it would hurt, his empire was crumbling – but the point Athos had to wonder was – he looked up at the still form of his brother pinned down by wires and tubes – the point was, at what cost?

Athos reached forward, careful to avoid the pulse-ox meter and grasped the limp fingers that were too cold for his liking.

It was over, they had won, but at what cost?

* * *

 **Thank you to all the people who read, follow or favorite this story! Thank you to all who leave me reviews your kindness has always been an amazing source of motivation. Thank you so so much!**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: This is the last chapter and I cannot thank you enough the people who read, followed, favorite and reviewed this story, especially those who left me reviews and I could not thank them individually. Your support is the reason that one chapter of 2k+ words into 100k+, your encouragement had carried this story forward.**

 **WARNING: possible law inaccuracies and profanity [one word]**

 **I wanted to go for a lot of comfort in this chapter but like most of you pointed out it was obvious that things couldn't be solved completely in this one. It's the ending I had had in the back of my mind for some time now and that is what I went with. Hope it works**

 **Saying that, I want you all to know that there will be at least a single one-shot after this.**

 **The lyrics at the end of this chapter don't belong to me, they belong to Disney, to the people who wrote them and those who gave them voice. I'm not making any money off them, but pointing them out as the inspiration every time I sat down to type out this story.**

 **THANK YOU everyone! Until next time…**

* * *

The rubber soles of his shoes slapped hard against the wet pavement, his breath misted out before him as the drizzle mixed with the sweat in an effort to cool him down. It left his shirt a sticky, clingy mess but he didn't mind that, neither the ache in his left foot nor the burning in his lungs. He pushed his legs in the even rhythm of a run that he had forgotten when he had picked up.

The streets at this hour were empty and the city quiet for a change, but not his mind, never his mind…

… _He watches his father being taken away, sees the hate in his eyes as he is pushed to move along, knows that the man will never taste freedom again, hears the curses his father whips at him with the intensity of the man's finest leather belt, looks on as he is dragged away in chains and waits – waits for the relief, waits for elation, waits and waits – He feels nothing…._

….His heartbeat picked up but his speed did not. He turned around the corner and passed the first streetlight of the lane, in the glow and out of it, in the glow again; it left him squinting. Blurred his view and distorted the world. There were ghosts at his heels of the dead and the living and Aramis could feel them drag along as he ran…

… _. He sees a ball of flame, watches it close around Porthos and Athos where they are huddled together and he is screaming and running and he can't reach them and the flames rush and twist to the sky until the world bursts in ashes – – – –he stares at the sky as the white ash swirls down, floating gently on the still air to reach him on the snow covered ground. The smell of death hangs in the air and he watches Marsac walk away as the world shatters – – – –the glass explodes and he sees Adele, he sees Isabelle, he sees his mother and he is lying on his back in a graveyard surrounded by the dead – – – –Porthos clasps his hand in both his, leans forward and plants a kiss to the side of his head. He is propped up on pillows and too drugged up and fears it's just a hallucination – – – –Athos is brushing the hair out of his eyes and he leans into the touch only to feel his brother cradle the side of his face, Aramis desperately hopes it's real …._

….the need to see them again made him stagger to a stop and bending over with his hands on his knees Aramis gasped. He had left them alive and sleeping at the flat but the irrational fear makes him want to turn back. He noted the street he was on and wasn't surprised at how far he had come. Late night running was becoming a norm with him and hoping that he would return before any of the others found his note, Aramis began to jog back.

The cloud cover was thickening overhead, he could tell by the shift in the air pressure he had come to note as a second nature after his sniper training. But he relished the freedom of being out in the open and let the rain soak him through as the sky opened with a rumble.

It was over four months since he had woken up at the hospital and found his brothers alive. His recovery was hurried along to match the pace of his father's trial and all that came with it. That meant he had to face the consequences of his decisions. It helped that legally he was the next in command after his father of the d'Herblay Empire and he was only too willing to cooperate with the authorities. Aramis mused if that was why he only got three months in prison, provided he met with the prison psychiatrist on schedule.

He had given the psychiatrist what she had wanted to hear and when. He knew that she wasn't what he needed; he had needed his brothers…

… _the need to see them is like a hunger gnawing at his insides; it robs him of sleep and digs a pit of fear in his chest. The first time they come down to meet him in prison he's ecstatic and worried that maybe it's all a reaction to shock and a load of wishful thinking; that somehow Athos and Porthos would have dispersed in the air while they had been out of his sight._

 _But they are there, alive and warm and laughing and joking and telling him all about the world moving forwards._

 _He loves it; he enjoys listening to them talk, sometime over each other in their excitement, and Aramis shuts up the confused, terrified thoughts lurking in his mind. He watches the three of them leave together when the time is up and remembers them walking out of the flat they had shared –_ _"you can't come Aramis not in this condition." – They_ _are safe, they are alive, they are happy, what more could he want?_

 _So he lets them go, Aramis lets them move on without him…._

…by the time he made it back to their building he was drenched down to his socks, the water pouring over him had pulled his curls into loose waves and plastered them on his face. Wiping them out of his eyes Aramis hurried up to his flat and found that the light spilling out from under the main door.

He saw Athos in the lounge, curled with a book on the sofa. The man looked up with a smile when he entered and Aramis had to un-stick the lump in his throat at the sight of him.

"Need to shower," he said and scurried away before Athos could reply.

Toeing off his shoes, he stepped under the hot spray of the shower clothes and all. Aramis leaned forward until his forehead came to rest against the tiled wall and forced himself to calm down. It was over; the shadow he had been running from had finally been extinguished.

He was free.

Aramis knew he shouldn't let the past hold him down anymore, he had to move on.

But he was still terrified of waking up and finding it all a dream. The near loss of his brothers was a chocking, petrifying horror that prowled in his mind and had him waking up in cold sweat on the odd occasion he actually slept.

"Pull yourself together Aramis," he scrubbed at his face.

Aramis gathered everything that threatened to break out of his chest and pour out of his skin and shoved it into the back of his mind. He knew he was lagging behind but he would do it, he would catch up to his brothers.

Aramis bit his lip and breathed in.

* * *

He had always been a light sleeper, but the past months had left him borderline insomniac and Athos had a feeling it was catching. He had been dozing in his room when the door in the hallway had opened; Athos was not surprised when the sound of keys turning in the main door reached him. Every other night Aramis would grow tired of being sleepless and try to outrun his demons, or chase them down, Athos wasn't sure which.

Wiping a hand down his face Athos swung his legs down the side of the bed and padded out of his room. He found the sticky-note on the main door announcing 'out for a run' in Aramis' sharp writing.

Athos sighed; the three months that his friend had spent in prison had probably damaged him more than the entire fiasco preceding it. He had been hurting and withdrawn before he had left and came back with a happy mask firmly in place. Athos wished nothing more than to tear it off, but he was afraid of the damage he would find under there.

Not wanting to pursue that train of thought Athos picked up the book he had started to read when Aramis had been in prison, nearly four months later he was still on the first chapter and had no idea what the book was about.

He kept glancing at his watch and wondered if he should go out and look for his friend. When the rain started to fall in earnest, Athos had had enough. Just when he was about slam the book shut and get off the sofa, the door opened to reveal his waterlogged brother.

Aramis announced his need to take a shower and hurried off down the hall.

Athos missed the Aramis who would come in sopping wet but still grinning as he formed puddles in the lounge and tried to hug Athos because he knew how much the man hated being in damp clothes.

Drawing a hand through his hair, Athos tugged at the strands between his fingers before rubbing the back of his neck. He raised an eyebrow when Porthos joined him on the other end of the sofa.

"He went for a run?"

"Just came back,"

"Maybe I should join him next time and see if it could get me some sleep," Porthos pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Remember we decided to give him some space and show him that we're all fine," Athos didn't know if he was speaking for his friend's benefit or his own.

When Aramis had come around in the hospital it had been a struggle to make him see they were all alive and well. He had withdrawn from them during his recovery and his father's trials, but still needed them around to calm his anxiety that came from their absence.

The three months of prison had seemed to crush that anxiety out of him though.

Before Porthos could form a reply d'Artagnan stumbled out to the lounge. Wiping a hand over his face the younger man flopped down on the rug by Athos' legs and yawned widely.

"Want to sleep," he groaned, "nightmares,"

"Then let us rot our brain cells in front of the television," Aramis smiled as he joined them with a mug in his hand.

Athos plucked it from his grip.

"Get your own," Aramis groused.

"You don't need anything more to keep you awake," Athos reasoned and sipped the contents.

It took all his willpower to not spit it right back out. He chocked down the small mouthful and grimaced in disgust. Athos didn't mind dark coffee but this was just wrong.

"This is tar and cold at that," he tried to swirl the sludge in the mug.

"Its sweetened tar," Aramis took his mug back and settled on the sofa between Athos and Porthos with the remote of the television, "what can we watch?"

"A documentary," Porthos shrugged.

"On history,"

"Wildlife," Porthos countered.

"Architecture,"

"Travel," Porthos grabbed for the remote, "Gimme that!"

Athos had to duck to avoid getting smacked when Aramis pulled the remote out of Porthos' reach.

"Space travel,"

"No,"

"Stars Porthos, you get to see galaxies and stars."

"I'll make you see stars right here if you don't hand over the remote,"

The scuffle had Athos pressed into the arm of the sofa and he still couldn't escape Aramis' elbow that jabbed him in the side.

"Athos!" two voices demanded in unison.

The man in question plucked the remote from the grappling hands and tossed it to d'Artagnan.

"I'm reading, d'Art will decide," he said.

The younger man looked at the object in his lap like it would bite him and scowled up at Athos.

"Sure, why not, throw me to the wolves why don't you," he said.

"My dear Porthos did he just compare us to canines of the wild sort?" Aramis raised an eyebrow.

"I believe he did," Porthos grinned and cuffed their youngest at the back of his head.

Athos wasn't surprised when d'Artagnan settled on some sports rerun and not a documentary at all. The good natured grumbling from the other two was quickly drowned in silence as the three of them tracked the men on the screen chasing after a ball in a match that had already been won, most likely weeks ago.

Athos never turned the page of the book in his hand and if any of them noticed it no one pointed it out. He watched as Aramis seemed to melt into the backrest he was slumped against, damp hair falling over his eyes that found it difficult to re-open after each slow blink.

Unsurprisingly the insomnia had hit him the worst, but what Athos hated was the fact that Aramis wasn't coming to them with the problem and sitting there watching him succumb to exhaustion, Athos suddenly realized that neither of them had pushed him to come clean either.

They couldn't deny that a chasm had opened up, with Aramis somehow on the other side of it, but to Athos' horror it dawned on him that their silence might just be pushing that gap wider. They had wanted to give him space after he returned to them a few weeks back, but each time they turned a blind eye to the elephant in the room the gap widened. It was like watching their brother slowly break away from them.

Needing to reassure himself with touch yet afraid it would startle the weary man, Athos shifted a little to get closer to his brother. He was rewarded when Aramis' head resting on the edge of the backrest dipped aside abruptly as the man took a sudden plunge under the wave of sleep. Swift and silent, like the strings cut off of a marionette Aramis just sagged, his head leaning on Athos' shoulder as the older man wound an arm around his back to keep him upright.

D'Artagnan caught the tipping mug from the suddenly lax fingers and placed it on the table without a word. He grabbed the cushion from the armchair and handed it to Athos before getting to his feet. Athos nodded his thanks as he placed the cushion on his lap and eased his brother down to rest his head on it. On the other end, Porthos heaved up Aramis' legs until he was settled on his side on the sofa between them.

"It's getting out of hand Athos,"

"I know,"

"We've given him enough space and it's not working,"

"I know," Athos found his hand tangled in his friend's damp curls but Aramis didn't even twitch.

Athos glanced to the side and found Porthos frowning at the feet in his lap; his big hand was settled on his brother's ankle and his jaw clenched in clear displeasure. It were the scars, Athos knew, the scars at the bottom of his feet that still troubled Aramis and he could only imagine how they might be hurting with all the running his brother was doing.

Porthos swiped his thumb over the damaged skin under the arch of the left foot and Aramis flinched in his sleep.

Athos met Porthos eyes and nodded, that one was a problem.

"He's not going for a run tomorrow, I'll tie him down and sit on him if I have to," Porthos ground out.

"And I'll help you do that," d'Artagnan added as he came back with a pair of blankets.

He dumped one on Porthos and wrapping the other around his shoulders he took his place again. Athos smiled when their youngest dropped his head on the sofa near Aramis' belly and promptly fell asleep. His occasional snuffling was soon joined by Porthos' light snores and Athos found himself to be the only one left watching the television.

From the corner of eye he saw Porthos' hand tighten around Aramis' ankle in his sleep, saw the way d'Artagnan pressed closer to the sofa with his arm lying outstretched along Aramis that shifted to clutch at the man's shirt; entwining his fingers almost painfully in the cloth. His own fingers sifted through his brother's tangled curls, scratching the scalp like one would of a cat.

Athos pulled the blanket that Porthos had draped over Aramis to cover him properly before letting his hand rest on his head again. His eyes widened in surprise at the difference in his friend's profile. Even with just the side of his face visible the change was obvious. Athos hadn't seen his brother look this relaxed in a long while now; unbidden in his mind flashed the brown eyes, softened with trust and love and a silent farewell. His fingers clutched the dark locks just a bit tighter and placing his elbow on the armrest Athos pressed the back of his free hand against his mouth to keep his welling emotions in check.

The weight of his brother reassured him of the reality that Aramis was alive and Athos vowed never to let it get so close to losing him again. He carded his fingers through his brother's hair and laid his hand on the side of his neck, focusing onto the heartbeat under his palm. Athos shivered at the memory of this precious rhythm silencing in those horrible moments.

Tears burned in his eyes even as a sad smile curled on his face.

Athos closed his eyes and breathed out.

* * *

For all his nimble fingers while typing he found them stiff and clunky as he tried to tie the bow-tie one more time; he could now sympathize with Athos about the man's pain over sending a text a message and had a new appreciation of the term 'being all thumbs.'

The thin strip of silky cloth was malevolent and sneaky and he pulled it away from his collar to glare at it. He just knew it was harbouring dark intentions of making him late for his appointment.

"I still don't understand why I have to wear a suit?" he grumbled out loud as he tried to tie the stupid thing again.

"Because no brother of mine is going to purpose to a girl in a hoodie and jeans," Aramis yelled back from somewhere in the lounge before marching into his room with d'Artagnan's suit jacket, all brushed ready; "besides, Constance deserves that you make an effort for her," he added.

And there was that; his hands shook at the thought of what he was be doing this afternoon and he fumbled with the knot he had gotten wrong again. Cursing under his breath, he didn't notice Porthos in his room until the man was stepping in front of him.

"Lemme do that before you strangle yourself," he slapped d'Artagnan's hands away.

D'Artagnan nodded his thanks and stood straighter, shoulders drawn tight and neck rigid. He didn't dare twitch lest Porthos would tie the thing only to find it lopsided. He found the older man grinning at his efforts as he tilted up d'Artagnan's face to get a better look at his handiwork.

With a nod Porthos straightened the collar and grasped d'Artagnan by the shoulders even as a dimpled grin appeared on his face.

"Loosen up before you pull something yeah?"

"I'm fine," d'Artagnan tried to let his stance relax a little; "it's just a date,"

"Where you will ask your future wife to marry you,"

"Yeah,"

"And she has to be blind to actually agree,"

"HEY!"

Porthos chuckled and gave his shoulders a squeeze before stepping away. As d'Artagnan looked in the mirror to see the bow-tie finally in place, he missed Porthos grabbing the back of Aramis' shirt and dragging him away. He turned only when he heard Athos clear his throat.

"Athos?" he really hoped the man wasn't there to tease him, he was a nervous wreck as it was.

The older man walked up to him in purposeful strides before he just stopped, turned a little as though considering bolting back but then shook his head and offered d'Artagnan a small smile.

"I have something that I think you'll find useful," he said.

"If you're going to try and convince me to listen to Aramis and wear the hat then I should tell you I won't," he replied as he waved around his hairbrush, "I'm not wearing that, she'll know something's going on even before I've asked her the question."

Athos' smile actually grew a bit and he shook his head.

"Not here about the hat,"

"Oh,"

Athos offered him the small black box d'Artagnan hadn't noticed in his hand. It was small enough to hide in his fist and felt like velvet on the outside. The younger man knew deep down what it was even before he had flipped open the lid. Nestled in the equally black velvet as it had on the outside was a slim gold ring; it was a plain band except for three deep red rubies set in a line, the one in the middle being the largest.

"Athos I can't…" he looked up at the man but Athos held up a hand to stop him from going further.

"It was my grandmother's from my father's side," he said, "she loved us both equally but Thomas was always closer to her, stayed with her more – he was the baby in our family and her favourite. She died shortly after I was married and she knew that I was still in contact with Thomas even if I wasn't with the rest of them."

"Athos you don't have to –"

"Just hear me out," Athos shook his head, "She left it in my safe keeping. She had wanted it to be for Thomas' wife when Tommy would eventually take one."

The pained look on Athos face had d'Artagnan reaching out to clasp his arm. Those blue eyes were bright with unshed tears but Athos managed a slight upwards curl at the corner of his lips.

"This was supposed to be the engagement ring for my little brother's wife," he nodded towards the box, "I wish you to have it – that is if you want to,"

D'Artagnan held the box so tight he was afraid he was pressing dents in it. He stared wide eyed at the man before him, the man he considered his mentor in every way despite all the cracks in his armour he was now privy to. What had started as a blind hero worship had turned into a loving respect for this man.

He had no idea when but the word family had began to mean Athos, Porthos, Aramis to him and now d'Artagnan couldn't believe that Athos was giving him a family heirloom; not just any family heirloom but one meant for his lost little brother.

"There's no pressure d'Art," Athos had clearly taken his silence the wrong way; "I know you will take Constance to chose an engagement ring. It's a good plan –"

He didn't wait for him to end and d'Artagnan simply pulled Athos in a hug, the surprise shutting up the older man instantly. The youngster squeezed the breath out of his brother, not quite believing what had just transpired. He pulled away from Athos with a laugh and wiped at his stinging eyes that seemed intent to water up for some reason.

Still grinning, d'Artagnan ran the hairbrush hastily through his hair before he grabbed the suit jacket and shrugged it on. Clutching the black box, he hugged a surprised Athos again and dashed out of his room. He had a date to go to where he would purpose to the most wonderful woman on earth and he would do so with _**his**_ family heirloom.

"Wait d'Art!" Aramis called after him.

"Not going to wear the hat!" d'Artagnan called over his shoulder as he rushed through the lounge.

"Fine, but I think Constance would really appreciate you wearing trousers," Aramis said.

He paused with his hand on the door handle, closing his eyes and wishing with all his might that this was one of Aramis' pranks. The sound of Porthos' laughter booming in the room wasn't an encouraging sign nor was the draft of cold air by his knees. The young man glanced down to realize that he was indeed in his underpants.

Porthos was laughing so hard that Aramis had to thump him on the back to get him breathing again, the other man's own exasperated grin and Athos' quiet chuckles followed d'Artagnan to his trek back to his room. Despite the embarrassed heating of his ears, he was grateful for this, he was grateful for the sight of his brothers relaxed and happy.

D'Artagnan grinned to himself and breathed in.

* * *

He was still chuckling as the three of them sat on the kitchen island drinking coffee. It had been ages since he had laughed like that and if it had hinted just a touch of hysteria Porthos was thankful that no one remarked on it. Topping up their mugs he settled into his chair and grinned at Athos.

"So I take it he was happy to get that ring from you?"

"I think I cracked a rib in that hug," Athos smiled gently, "you should have seen his face,"

"We would have if someone hadn't dragged me out," Aramis gave Porthos a pointed look and ducked to avoid the swipe at his head from the big man.

"It was a private affair," Porthos said.

"Really? So did he blush and swoon, Athos?" Aramis batted his eyelashes at the man, "is that why he was rushing out flustered and half-dressed?"

Porthos chocked on his coffee and Athos smacked Aramis upside the head.

When he was finally able to rid of the beverage threatening to go down the wrong pipe in his throat, Porthos was elated to find the grin on Aramis' face. He cast a fleeting glance towards Athos and saw the same glow of warmth in his eyes that he felt stirring in his chest.

Maybe it wasn't so bad, maybe Aramis was coming back to them, in bits and pieces yes but there was still a chance of things going back to the way they were.

"I'm happy for the pup," Porthos spoke out loud.

"As am I," and Aramis looked it too, "And I have something to tell you both."

It was in the way his brother hunched over the counter top with his elbows resting on the cool surface that had both Porthos and Athos on the edge. Aramis contemplated his coffee for a moment before looking up at the two of them.

"I'm leaving for Spain this Saturday,"

It was like the air had been sucked out of their flat.

"What?" Porthos stared.

"Aramis…" Athos began but the man in question shook his head.

"I called Senor Alvaro and he had arranged everything," Aramis hurried to explain, "I'll stay at the farm, visit my mother's grave…. I'm just tired of it all and I think – I think I need a break."

Athos was staring slightly open mouthed at the man before him but Porthos wasn't at loss for words, he had plenty.

"What do you need a break from?" his eyes narrowed, "Us?"

"Never," the reply was instant and vehement.

It soothed the rapid beating of Porthos' heart and he nodded. He had no idea what he would have done if Aramis had hesitated even a little; he liked to believe their brotherhood was indestructible.

"I don't think the time is right for that," Athos reasoned, "we're only just getting over the fear of losing each other."

"I know…" Aramis dropped his head in his hands, "I know… and I –"

"And suppose you dream that we're dead and wake up to find yourself alone; what then?" Porthos leaned forward, ignoring the flinch on Aramis' face at his words, "What then 'Mis? What'll y' do?"

His brother let his eyes rove over his face as if memorizing every feature of Porthos' visage, he smiled and placed a hand on his that was clenched into a fist.

"Then I'll call you," Aramis said.

"And if we don't pick up what then?"

Aramis' grip tightened on his fist and Porthos didn't miss the fear that flashed in those wide brown eyes.

"You will…?" it was the turn at the end of his words, the shift in his tone that made it almost a question that took the breath out of Porthos.

It wasn't the fully grown man before him but the surprised child who was enthusiastically friendly but didn't understand that Porthos and Athos would stand up for him, it was the boy who shared and dared them into all sorts of wild ideas but was shocked when they wouldn't let him take the blame alone, it was the teenager who was the first to help anyone who was hurt but awed if the favor was returned. They had overcome all that in their years together for Aramis to trust them to be there, but the hesitant declaration now was a testament to how far they had fallen this time. That he would even consider them not answering his calls cut Porthos to his core.

He sat back heavily in his chair, unable to meet the anxious gaze of his brother.

"Aramis if you wait a while, we could all go on a vacation together," Athos said, "we'll take some time off the city and enjoy the Spanish sun together."

Porthos saw Aramis brightening up before his face fell again and their friend shook his head.

"I have to learn Athos, have to get my mind sorted – after what I did – I almost did – I need to get away from here – I can't breathe sometimes Athos so I have to learn to let go, to move on and I can't come back unless I do that," Aramis' eyes were wide and his fingertips where white where they were pressed against the coffee mug, "It's not a vacation."

It wasn't a vacation, he was leaving. Aramis had decided to leave, for good. Porthos felt his mouth open but no words came to his mind and he closed it with a growl. He watched his brother draw a hand through his sleep mussed curls and shake his head as though the decision pained him.

A part of Porthos was glad about that, if it pained him to leave them then there was still a chance this madness could be stopped.

"You don't plan to come back?" Athos' voice was a whisper.

He looked several shades paler as he too stared at their brother.

"I do, eventually," Aramis squeezed the back of his neck, "Once I've put it all behind me like the rest of you."

"The rest of us?" Porthos snapped, "Did you miss the way we keep waking up from nightmares?"

"At least you get to sleep before the nightmares," Aramis groaned, "I can't even close my eyes until I pass out. I don't begrudge you that. I'm glad you're finally getting your act together with Flea and Athos is giving the fencing lessons he had been putting off for years. I'm happy to see d'Artagnan is getting engaged and I know Treville said we will always have jobs with him but I can't go back to that – I can't pick up a weapon again without – without –" Aramis bit his lip and shook his head again, "I'm stuck Porthos. Anything I do leads me back to my –" Aramis broke off and looked away, "You all have moved on and I haven't. I need to find a way to put this behind me. You're all doing fine without me here and maybe the solitude would help me get better too."

Porthos couldn't stop snorting at the thought; Aramis was the most tactile creature he had ever come across and he had no idea how his brother had deduced that they were doing fine without him.

But his mind still toyed with the idea and wondered what would have put such a notion in Aramis' head. Had they been appearing to their brother like they had swiped everything under the rug and forgotten the hell they had been through? Their cheerful meetings when they visited Aramis in prison came to his mind and now that Porthos thought about it, he had to confess to himself that they might have been a bit too carefree and happy.

His musings were cut off by the soft knock on the front door and Aramis had pushed off his chair to answer it before either of them could. Porthos watched him leave and promised himself that they will sort this out and make sure everything was going back to normal.

"I think we may have missed the mark on keeping his spirits up while he was in prison," Athos said as he grasped his coffee mug with a shaky hand and drained it in one go.

"Ya' think?" Porthos shook his head, "he believes we wouldn't mind him leaving us back here,"

"I can't let him –" Athos shook his head, a near panicked look in his eyes, "can't let him go off this soon,"

"We can't and we won't," Porthos grasped his shoulder.

He would make sure things go back to the way they were

"Athos?" Aramis called from the lounge.

He sounded strained somehow and Porthos left his coffee back as he followed his friend out of the kitchen, nearly bumping into Athos when the man stopped abruptly. Frowning at his friend, the big man sidestepped him and turned to Aramis who was standing in the lounge.

It wasn't Aramis however that caught his attention but the person beside him. The three men stared at the boy in their lounge who looked to be about five years old. The green eyes set in the slightly round face stared back from under the fringes of floppy dark hair, but it was the expression, the solemn studying look that had Porthos and Aramis looking back at Athos.

"I'm here to meet Olivier d'Athos d' la Fere," the child announced.

"That would be me," Athos took a step forward.

His outward calm was belied by the rigidness in his stance as the man took the thick manila envelope, the size of a folder, which the boy offered him. Porthos walked over to his friend as he perched on the sofa and spilled the contents onto the coffee table.

There were a number legal looking papers but one envelope in the pile caught both their attention and Athos picked up the pale blue letter that had his name etched on it. Porthos watched his best friend go through the words, his eyes widening with each passing second.

"Athos?" Porthos asked quietly.

His friend turned to stare at the boy who seemed to be inching towards Aramis' leg and wordlessly handed Porthos the letter.

" **Athos,**

 **I didn't know about Raoul when we parted ways, I didn't know of him while I was in prison. His existence only came into light while I was recovering from my 'death' under the Cardinal's watch.**

 **He was taken from me at his birth, bound for the same life I had lived but I could not let it be. I had been searching for our son ever since. If it meant going against the Cardinal and by extension d'Herblay then it had to be so. Sending d'Artagnan to you was my key for that.**

 **The Bonnairs were my chance at finding Raoul and saving Emile Bonnair was the price for it. I didn't want us to meet again like we did; yet perhaps knowing that I'm alive makes this easier for you to accept now.**

 **When he will ask you about his mother I hope you would remember the woman you fell in love with; tell him that he is the proof of the best that this life had offered me.**

 **I know how you and yours watch out for one of your own, which is why I leave him to you.**

 **I will be watching,**

 **Anne."**

Things were not going back to the way they were, life was changing and Porthos realized there was nothing he could do about it. He re-read the letter and dropped it atop the pile of papers, opting instead to regard the boy who was staring back at Athos with the expression that was an everyday occurrence while the three of them were growing up. The legality and proof in the papers wasn't necessary to convince him, it was clear on the child's face that Raoul was Athos' son.

Porthos pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed out.

* * *

His knuckles had gone white as he gripped the edge of the mattress where he was perched on in his room, trying very hard to not panic. Five years, five years he believed that his wife was dead and now she was telling him he had a son; they had a son. It was so much like Anne to rock his already shaky world with a hit out of the blue.

He shook his head at the expression, blue; she always did love blue….

… _."What's so special about these flowers anyway?" he picks up one blue flower from the pile she had scattered over his chest and twirls the thin stem between his finger._

" _They're forget-me-nots," she pushes herself on her elbow, taking her head off his shoulder and regards him with deep green eyes, "Enduring love Athos, a love that never lets you go…"_

He sighed at the resigned thought that she would indeed not let him go and deep down he knew he couldn't ask her to, not when she was the mother of their child. And she had been a better parent than him; she had worked hard to get their son to safety when he didn't even dream that the child existed.

Athos looked up when Porthos came to the door, his arms crossed before his chest as he leaned against the doorjamb.

"That's why she wanted me alive," Athos said.

"A good reason I'd say," Porthos shrugged.

"The child – I mean Raoul?"

"Aramis is with him," Porthos pushed away from the support and walked over to sit beside him, "how're y' holding up?" he asked.

Athos leaned forwards, pressed his elbows onto his thighs and dropped his head in his hands. He twined his fingers at the back of his head and tried to slow his heartbeat. He shook his head and spoke to his shoes.

"I can't do this Porthos," he said.

" 'Course you can,"

Athos managed an aborted snort and sat up to glare at his friend.

"I can't raise a child," he said.

"Not alone maybe but we can do this together yeah?" Porthos' grin was half confidence half teasing, "We raised Aramis didn't we? And look how good he turned out,"

Athos opened his mouth to retort but closed it as though he had no sufficient words and raised an eloquent brow.

"I think your Mum raised that one,"

"Nah, it was us," Porthos shook his head, "and we started so young. If we can start doing it at the tender age of seven don't you think we have a better chance now?"

Athos couldn't argue with that, his mind however took the turn towards his brother who had decided to leave them and the thought left a sickening feeling in his stomach. They may not have raised Aramis like Porthos was saying but they certainly have always felt responsible for him. It was odd and probably insane but between the two of them there had always been a sense that Aramis was _**theirs.**_ They had laid claim to him like the three of them had with d'Artagnan.

The thought of losing him one way or another was almost crippling.

"We can't let him go through with this,"

"We won't," Porthos said, "he's ours,"

Athos couldn't help but snort at how absurd and unhealthy that sounded; and yet he could not deny it.

"C'mon you have a son Athos," Porthos pulled him to his feet, "this will be great,"

He had no choice but to follow his brother out of the room. In the lounge they found Aramis and Raoul engrossed in a thumb war. The boy started when the two of them neared and chose to stop his play in favor of clutching Aramis' fingers instead. Athos was about to bolt again but he caught the encouraging smile from Aramis over Raoul's head and forced himself to hold his ground.

Athos crouched down before the boy as his friend gave Raoul a gentle push towards him.

"Hi!" Athos decided not dwell on how lame that sounded, "I'm Athos, do you know who I am? To you I mean."

The green eyes dipped from his face.

"My father," the boy told the carpet.

Athos would have lost his balance if it wasn't for Porthos' grip on his shoulder; he had to take a minute to let the words sink in. He was a father, he had a son, Athos wanted to pull the child in his arms but he could see the slight trembling in the small frame and decided not to push him.

"Good, that's good," he nodded, "This is your uncle Porthos and that's uncle Aramis,"

Raoul looked from one man to the other, a tentative smile appearing on his lips. He gave a little squeak of surprise when Porthos stepped forward and grabbed the child around his middle. The big man hauled him from around the wait and turned the child this way and that, pretended to look him up and down until soft giggles erupted from the boy.

"He looks far too cute then you were at this age Athos," he told his friend then gave the boy a little toss.

Athos felt a flip of fear in his stomach at the sight but lost it in a smile when his son squealed in delight. As Porthos went on to toss and spin the laughing boy Athos could only watch in wonder. His gaze slipped over to Aramis and found a soft smile in his eyes that traced the happy duo.

Athos wiped a hand over his eyes and breathed in.

* * *

They took the stairs, it wasn't his decision but d'Artagnan had no choice when the woman before him turned with a smirk on her face and a challenge in her eyes. He only had minute to shake his head before she gave half a twirl, the late afternoon light glinting on her ring when she waved at him and then sprinted away. He followed without a thought; feeling like he had just drank a bottle of sunshine.

D'Artagnan would spend all his life chasing her if that was what she wanted him to do. He still couldn't believe his luck, couldn't comprehend how a life of loneliness and crime had led him here, to a family, to love.

Taking two steps at a time he pounded up the stairs and caught on to Constance at the landing of their floor. Snaking an arm around her waist he pulled her close, adoring the way she cocked her head to the side as if listening to something.

"You can hear that too right?" she asked.

"Wedding bells?" he asked.

Constance coloured up and smacked him on the chest. She wriggled out his grasp and motioned towards the main door of their flat. D'Artagnan followed her and stopped short in his tracks when he heard it. It was the sound of laughing, not just laughing but the unmistakable high pitched laughter of a child.

Confused beyond words he pulled open the door and felt his mouth fall open.

The lounge was in a complete state of disarray, the carpet upturned at the edges and scrunched, cushions lay about the floor as well as a few blankets and amidst it all was Porthos with a child on his shoulders chasing after Aramis.

D'Artagnan looked wide eyed as Athos came out of the kitchen and moved towards him.

"There's a child in our home," d'Artagnan pointed out.

"My son, Raoul,"

D'Artagnan wiped his head around to stare at the man.

"Your son?"

Athos nodded and turned to the demolishing crew in their lounge. He gave a sharp whistle to catch their attention and was rewarded with three pair of eyes turning their way.

"Children, behave,"

"Sorry Athos," three voices spoke in unison.

Porthos and Aramis clambered up to congratulate Constance while d'Artagnan pulled aside Athos. His brain had stopped working at the words 'my son' coming from Athos' mouth. He knew the relationship, or lack their off that his brother had with his supposed-to-be-dead-wife, and feared that it could be just another ploy by M'Lady.

"You have a son?" he asked again.

Athos nodded.

"Come, I'll explain everything," he said.

Half an hour later found the four of them in Athos' room where they explained to him the arrival of the new member of their family. It seemed too good to be true but d'Artagnan couldn't stamp down the excitement to meet his brand new nephew currently left under the watchful eyes of Constance. He jumped off from his perch on the chair and frowned when Porthos stopped him from leaving.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Aramis has something else to tell you,"

"Porthos, no today," the man in question shook his head.

"Now seems like as good a time as any,"

"What?" d'Artagnan looked from one brother to the next, "What's wrong?"

He couldn't understand the sudden shift of the mood in the room, Porthos was glaring at Aramis who seemed very interested in a spot on the far wall and both of them had their jaws clenched shut.

"Aramis is leaving," Athos spoke up.

"Okay…"

"This Saturday, for Spain," Porthos ground out, "and tell him when you plan to come back 'Mis,"

Aramis glared at the big man but made no move to reply, his silence unsettled d'Artagnan more than any words could. He walked closer to his brother, making sure that he stood in front of him so that Aramis could not avoid his gaze.

"You're leaving?" he asked.

"Yes, d'Art I –"

"And when'll you be back?" he cut in.

Aramis looked at him then and d'Artagnan had to ignore the silent plea in those brown eyes asking him not to push. Because he had to push, he had to know, he wanted his brother to say out loud what his silence was already screaming.

"You don't plan to come back," d'Artagnan whispered.

Aramis closed his eyes as though the words pained him, but he didn't deny it immediately as d'Artagnan had hoped. It snapped something in him and rage seethed at his core propelling d'Artagnan forward until he had caught Aramis by the front of his shirt and slammed him back against the wall.

"You selfish bastard," he fumed.

"d'Art –" Aramis began.

"No! Just no!" he shook the man in his grasp, "do you have any idea what we've been through?"

"I know, just hear me out d'Art, I –"

"You don't know, you have no idea," he shoved the man hard against the wall, "we watched you die! You have no idea what we went through."

One second he was glowering at Aramis backed against the wall and the next d'Artagnan found himself pinned against the same wall, his arm twisted back and up with Aramis' forearm pressed against the back of his neck.

"You have no idea what I saw," Aramis said.

His voice was cold, more than d'Artagnan had ever heard his brother sound. His own simmering anger calmed a bit and he wriggled. Aramis backed away from him like he had been burned and just like that the younger man was free.

He turned around to catch the horrified, panicked look on Aramis' face.

"I'm sorry," whispered Aramis and bolted.

The sound of the main door closing echoed back to them even before d'Artagnan had managed a step forwards; it left him feeling like he had just kicked a sick puppy. No one spoke for a long while, no one moved and it wasn't lost on the younger man how neither of them could meet each other's gaze.

D'Artagnan drew a hand through his hair and breathed out.

* * *

It was nearing midnight.

They had put Raoul in Athos' bed and left the small slumbering lump surrounded by pillows, neither of them wanting the child to roll off the bed in case he fidgeted in his sleep. The two of them had often found Aramis sitting bewildered on the dormitory floor deep into the night.

The sleep dazed eyes under ruffled hair and the apologetic grin came to his mind and Porthos shook his head sadly. With a sigh he opened the door to his room and wasn't surprised to find the men inside.

"Anything?" he asked.

Athos shook his head and d'Artagnan very nearly whined at the response. Aramis had messaged Athos that he'll be late and that was only a few hours after he had left. Then it was radio silence.

Porthos joined d'Artagnan on the floor by his bed and looked up at Athos who had taken the chair.

"I think we can safely assume that stopping him just went out the window," he said.

"I was an idiot," d'Artagnan groaned.

"You were upset," Athos said, "and I don't think we had much of a chance to stop him before."

Porthos couldn't deny the truth in those words, no matter what he wished he couldn't very well make Aramis stay if he was set on leaving. It just hurt him physically in the hollow under his lungs to think that his brother wouldn't come to them, wouldn't share his troubles.

"He'd always run to us," he said, "What went wrong Athos? Why's he running away?"

His brother got up from his post and came to sit by the bed on Porthos' other side, the big man wondered if his brother had even realized how he was leaving an Aramis sized space between the two of them; a space that shouldn't be there.

"I don't know Porthos," his friend replied, "he'd always been too good at keeping his secrets but not like this."

They sat in silence then, unsure when their wandering brother would return home. Porthos had half a mind to go out and look for him but he knew that his friend wouldn't be found until he wanted to be found. What hurt worst was the realization that Aramis would indeed be hiding from them.

Porthos pursed his lips and breathed in.

* * *

The three days between the evening he had bolted to now as he got out of the taxi at the airport had been his own personal hell. They weren't walking on eggshells around each other; it was like they were avoiding landmines. The only spot of relief was Raoul, a calming presence delighted and shy by turns. Aramis had never thought how soothing it could be to hold a child until the boy had chosen his lap to crawl into and cry his little heart out after a nightmare.

It should've been Athos was the thought in his mind as it had been then.

But he didn't linger on that because it brought to his mind the horrible goodbye that morning. Raoul had been distant and his brothers looked like they were torn between the desire to punch him or pull him in an embrace.

They had shook hands.

They had never in their lives shook hands.

Aramis paid the driver, adjusted his backpack and let himself get lost in the crowd. D'Artagnan had a date with Constance, Athos and Porthos were taking Raoul shopping and in a way Aramis was glad none of them were there to see him off.

There was only so much resolve a man could have and he knew he was weak, terribly so without his brothers.

He had just made it to the waiting area when a woman passed him by and a fruity scent wafted up to him…

… _his face was buried in her hair, her body limp in his hands as the warmth from the bullet holes seeped into his hands. Isabelle was dead, murdered by his father, murdered because of him…._

….his stomach roiled and Aramis rushed to the men's' room, wildly dodging everyone in his path. Turning on the faucet he hurried to wash his hands, hands that were stained by Isabelle's blood, by Adele's blood, by Marsac's blood, by Athos and Porthos – no; he shook his head and gripped the edge of the sink, they were alive.

Aramis leaned on his arms until his knuckles were as white as the sink he was clutching. It took him ages to get back some semblance of control and cupping water in his shaky hands he splashed some on his face. Channeling his training as a sniper he forced himself to find the calm spot in his mind and made it back to the waiting area.

"Unca' 'Ramis! Unca' 'Ramis!" he only had a chance to spot the small blur before his arms were full of a five year old boy.

"Unca' 'Ramis, we're going to Spain!" Raoul announced.

Aramis nodded even as he raised a brow at the four grownups following the child. By the suitcases they were lugging behind them, it seemed like the boy in his arms was telling the truth.

"Way to ruin the surprise kid," d'Artagnan rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I wanted to sneak up on him," Porthos grinned.

"You broke three fingers last time you tried that," Athos reminded him.

"I think he's still surprised," Constance smiled, "look at his face."

Aramis closed his mouth and fervently hoped that they couldn't see the wetness in his stinging eyes.

"You're going to Spain?" his voice came out hoarse.

"Our friend owns an olive farm there, that's where we'll be staying," Porthos said.

"Will you now?"

"Uh-huh," d'Artagnan nodded, "that is if he could forgive me for being a jerk."

"I think he'd love to have you there," Aramis grinned, "but your job Constance…."

"I have vacation time stacked up," she shrugged then opened her arms to the boy, "hey Raoul let's go see if we can find some good reading material."

The child went willingly and Aramis suddenly realized what the woman had done. He suddenly couldn't look his brothers in the face.

"So I take it you don't mind us tagging along," Athos said.

He loved it, but he couldn't ask them this, not if he didn't know when he could come back, but having them there was like finding his world on an even keel again. He shook his head and cleared his throat.

"I'd love to have you come with me but –"

"Nothing," Porthos cut him off, "but nothing, we've been waiting for you to reach out but since you clearly won't then I guess we'll have to barge in."

"I don't think you get it Aramis but it's clear that somewhere under names it's written 'not to be separated,' we're just learning to respect that." Athos said.

"Yeah, something like all for one and one for all," d'Artagnan mused.

"I think you should confiscate his musket," Porthos groaned.

"Don't you dare touch it!"

"I won't, Athos will,"

"No one is touching the musket,"

"Do you fall into the 'no one' category?"

D'Artagnan groaned and smacked Porthos on the shoulder.

It was the best sound to hear them quibbling, soothing in a way only family can be.

Aramis smiled and breathed out.

* * *

 _ **As you go through life you'll see**_

 _ **There is so much that we**_

 _ **Don't understand**_

 _ **And the only thing we know**_

 _ **Is things don't always go**_

 _ **The way we planned**_

 _ **But you'll see every day**_

 _ **That we'll never turn away**_

 _ **When it seems all your dreams come undone**_

 _ **We will stand by your side**_

 _ **Filled with hope and filled with pride**_

 _ **We are more than we are**_

 _ **We are one….**_


End file.
